On Rare Occasions
by TreeHugger
Summary: Sequel toThe Silver Peacock and the Skulking Cutpurse. Things haved changed for Alagaith, but his past threatens his new life in Mirkwood when a group of elves from Rivendell arrive. UPDATED! Coauthored with DragonoftheNorth! COMPLETED!
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: We don't own the world or certain of its inhabitants. They are the property of the Tolkien Estate and were created by the Great Master. Other personages we do own...or they own us; we have not yet decided which.  
  
On Rare Occasions by Dragon-of-the-north and TreeHugger  
  
Chapter 1 – Decisive Duels  
  
The sword I held was a good blade, light and supple, forged not for war or for serious fights, but meant to be used in mock duels, fancy displays of skill and grace that I had taken part in often in another time, another life, under the vaults of a cave palace, before a golden-haired king and his court.  
  
This was something I knew well, even something I had always excelled at, and I tried to draw some measure of comfort from the notion that this was a familiar situation. It was, yet it was not; for this was not Nargothrond, but Mirkwood, and Thranduil Oropherion, not Finrod or Orodreth, had taken a seat on the dais now, watching me like some woodland animal waiting for the right moment to attack its prey.  
  
No, this was not what I knew, or rather what I had known in better days, before the long, dark night of my current undesirable existence had begun. It did not help to know that I would not fight for the sheer enjoyment of it, for the honour of winning or for a dainty wreath of flowers from the lady Finduilas' hands – my own hand was at stake, and more than that, my freedom, my future, my fate...  
  
This might actually have been an incentive, forcing me to use all knowledge of swordsmanship I possessed to impress the king and to win over the other spectators who were entering the throne room of Gladaran Thamas one by one now, and had this been all, I would have been sure of myself and my ability to move this fine blade swiftly and with deadly precision.  
  
But the second sword, long and elegant and so very similar to the one I had chosen, was not held by just any opponent. Neither would I have to face Gwindor, Eliant, my father or any other of the excellent swordsmen I had known at Nargothrond who would have anticipated this lovely dance of blades, nor a random warrior of the woodland realm ready to do anything not to let a filthy thief, a repeat offender, a mere nothing win.  
  
Standing a few steps away from me, awkwardly clutching the weapon that was not his chosen one, but had been forced into his reluctant hand by a malevolent king, was Tanglinna, not looking like a silver peacock at all at this point, but about as uncomfortable with our current situation as I felt.  
  
"No...second thoughts, Alagaerion?" a polite, yet sarcastic voice enquired from the height of the throne; the smile accompanying the question was as pleased as enigmatic, going very well with the image of a self-assured ruler who would not disclose whatever plans he was making, but only move us like the pieces in one of the board games Alagant so loved to play. Alagant... It was decidedly not a good thing to think about my son just now! "No, my king," I answered, inclining my head a little in a most humble gesture that allowed me to evade the king's gaze; I did not want him to read in my face that I did doubt whether I had done the right thing. I had been aware that coming to Mirkwood in the hope of being able to start a new life was bold, and I had expected distrust, severe punishment, even refusal – but how could I have foreseen that I would be asked to fight against a friend, a good friend even?  
  
Perhaps I managed to hide these thoughts; perhaps not, but I could not know this, for even if the king could read me, which I was not sure of, I certainly did not know how to interpret his unchanging smile that would not even leave his face when his gaze shifted to the doorway, acknowledging the presence of his queen and his children who entered the room now, Firithiel swiftly moving to sit by her husband's side, her eyes coldly studying Tanglinna and me.  
  
Unlike her children, who seated themselves as well now, looking somewhat bemused at best, the queen did seem to have at least a vague idea of what was happening; she bent to whisper something to her husband, whose smile only widened. "All will be told momentarily, my lady. We are merely awaiting the others," he said, a negligent wave of his hand accompanying those words, as if he was enjoying his game far too much. It did not please me to see that he played it even against his own wife; I would have to be very careful.  
  
Alas, I could not even hope to find an ally against him; the queen did not seem to be one of those kind and gentle ladies who will easily pity even the worst villains. Although she was visibly displeased by her husband's secrecy, her eyes narrowed as she gazed at me again, probably only too well aware who and what I was. Tales of the wicked one-eyed thief who had been caught stealing on the battlefield had certainly reached her, and she obviously disapproved of what I had done.... And 'disapproved' may be yet too gentle a word! Admittedly, this would not have surprised me quite that much had I already known then that the captain whose cloak I had tried to steal had been a good friend of hers, to say the very least.  
  
An either somewhat insane or very malicious king, a cold, displeased queen, further witnesses who would not look upon the allegedly repentant robber of the dead more kindly than their rulers, who set the example, did.... Things could hardly get any worse, and for a moment, I felt tempted to tell them that I would not fight this duel, but then, my eye came to rest upon Tanglinna again. I could not spoil all the efforts he had made by giving up now! Had I not told myself often enough that there was still hope... or at least something like hope? I only had to believe it, and then all would be well....  
  
However, there was not much hope in regard to Tanglinna's swordsmanship, or so it would seem. He was fiddling with his weapon now, gripping the handle a bit too tightly, as if he planned to balance his lack of experience with a blade with sheer strength. I could have told him that this would not work, not with these delicate swords, but I was not sure if we were supposed to exchange any words before the fight, and so, I kept my mouth shut.  
  
Tanglinna's gaze met mine, though. The brave smile he attempted was not entirely convincing; the desperate sigh accompanying it was far more heartfelt and genuine. In a way, his situation was worse than mine indeed.  
  
I had little more than a hand to lose and was but a stranger to these Wood- elves; Mordil, in turn, was at home here, and his livelihood, the respect he enjoyed, all happiness that he could still find in a life apart from that those he had loved most which had been taken depended on the king's benevolence. There was more at stake for him than for me, even if it could have seemed otherwise.  
  
I tried to return his smile, but his eyes had already moved away again to rest upon the blade in his hand, the weapon he would have to raise against me at his king's behest.... His grip around the handle was still painfully tight, almost clumsy, and I wondered if I could demonstrate to him how to hold it properly without being too obvious. I would have to give him some sign once he looked up again and did not stare at his sword any more as if it were a foul enemy....  
  
I was momentarily distracted by the arrival of Ecthelhador, who had been sent away by the king earlier and entered the room followed by four other elves now. Two of them were clad like warriors and obviously engaged in a muffled conversation that they only interrupted to greet their king and queen. The remaining two – yet another warrior and a lady of almost regal bearing – managed to hold my attention for a longer moment; some things were very remarkable about them. It was not only that they resembled each other like close relatives, mother and son, perhaps, and that they were dressed in matching shades of pale violet as if to emphasize these similarity of looks. They were not random Wood-elven courtiers; had the shape of their fair faces not been enough to let me suspect anything, the cut of their garments would have told me that they were Noldorin elves.  
  
This was what I saw, but what caught my interest first was rather what I heard the lady say, more precisely, not what she said, but which language she used. She spoke Quenya, but not just any Quenya, not the dry language of learned, bored and boring loremasters, but not the forced Quenya of proud Noldor unwilling to admit that they knew Sindarin better, either.  
  
Hers was a beautiful language, the ripple of water in an exquisitely crafted fountain, fluent and natural, yet gently tamed by culture and put to good use, the pure, clear Quenya of fair Tirion, the language my mother had spoken and enjoyed to speak before an untimely death had taken her from me when I had still been an elfling.  
  
I fought down a smile of odd nostalgia and decided to see the unknown lady's presence as a good sign, especially as she was just remarking something I could only agree with: "And how very quaint to choose Tanglinna for this fight! That Silvan is not a swordsman at all!"  
  
Then, piercing grey eyes moved to survey me, and I risked tipping my head at the lady, who did not respond, but seemed pleased enough to have been thus acknowledged before she looked away again.  
  
Gazing back at Tanglinna, I was glad to find that he was looking at me, although he was frowning a little; I hoped that this was only a sign of his general unease and did not signify that I had done anything wrong in greeting the Noldorin lady!  
  
Remembering what I had wanted to do, I glanced at his hand rather pointedly, shaking my head slightly enough to let it pass for an unconscious movement if anybody else noticed it and trying to demonstrate how he should hold his sword. I dared not be too obvious. The two warrior elves who had entered the throne room with Ecthelhador and the Noldor were studying us with interest, and I would have loved to understand the whispered remarks they were exchanging; but they knew how to keep their voices low.  
  
For a moment, I feared that my subtle hints failed to reach their intended recipient; Tanglinna frowned yet again, but then – finally! – he seemed to realize what I was trying to point out to him. It cost him a visible struggle to relax his grip on the hilt a little, but he nodded and smiled his thanks to me.  
  
I tried to return his smile, making mine one of encouragement and confidence, but I fear I failed quite miserably. It was not only that entirely too much depended on this duel's outcome; I also feared the fight itself.  
  
There is an old saying that what it takes to bring down a master swordsman is an opponent who has never held a blade before, and while this statement may be an exaggeration, it does contain at least one truth. An ill-trained swordsman can be a difficult opponent for an experienced one, especially in such a mock fight, because he is utterly unpredictable. How should one follow the rules if one does not know them? I did not really fear to lose this fight; but being unable to guess what Mordil would do next also meant that I was likely to wound him unintentionally if I predicted his next move incorrectly – and I did not want to wound him. Accursed king!  
  
It did not exactly help that I saw Mordil's hand tighten around his sword once more as soon as he turned his eyes away from me. He was as uncomfortable with the situation as I, and this did not bode well at all!  
  
This knowledge made waiting for the inevitable quite trying; thus, I was grateful when the king motioned for the newcomers to sit and turned to address the 'witnesses', as he had named them.  
  
"I apologize for the disruption of your evening, but something of import has come to my attention and it needs resolving. I shall first refresh your memory about the tale Tanglinna told us when he returned after the battle at Erebor...."  
  
He did so, his voice not devoid of irony, as if he wished to show that he doubted the truth of what he related succinctly now without making the effort of phrasing the misgivings he certainly had.  
  
"...and now," he finally concluded, gesturing at me, "that very same thief has told me that he wishes to remain here in our realm, become an honest elf once more. I decided that since we were told of his prowess with a blade" – he glanced at the two warriors I had remarked earlier, and I wondered if they were the ones meant to judge my skill - "that in order to prove his sincerity he must best one of my warriors; not my best warriors as I think that would be an impossible task."  
  
I refrained from pointing out that I had never heard of an invincible sword master in the service of the Wood-elf-king; it might have sounded the slightest bit presumptuous, and I certainly did not wish to anger Thranduil.... Not now, anyway.  
  
Smiling at the aforementioned warriors – so were they the best his realm had to offer? – the king went on: "Tanglinna was chosen because he and this thief supposedly became fast friends over a bottle of Orcish brandy...that was it, wasn't it? Alagaerion here must prove his sincerity and his skill if I am to consider his request."  
  
The queen did not seem to be overly pleased at this pronouncement, and while she was obviously too wise and too well-versed in the old game of politics, the look with which her eyes touched me, briefly lingering before they moved on to her husband, was slightly unsettling.  
  
By the way, it was an interesting collection of eyes that was to be found in this room, many of them grey, as elven eyes tend to be, not only differing in shape and shade, but most obviously in their expression; there was hostility next to curiosity and pity next to fell amusement... But regardless of colour, form, beauty and emotion, all those eyes had one thing in common; they were pairs of eyes, except for the one I could not see, my single one.  
  
The involuntary symbolism of this could have made me laugh. Even in this, I stood out and did not fit, even in this, I was not a proper elf any more, but some strange, disfigured creature. Accordingly, the king's words about our 'becoming fast friends' sounded as approving as they might have sounded if Tanglinna had brought a stray cave troll to Mirkwood.  
  
I glanced at Mordil apologetically, hoping that he understood that I had never meant to do this to him by coming here.  
  
Tanglinna's own gaze was hard to read at that moment; his eyes briefly flitted to the doorway and the warriors guarding it, as if he wished to point out something I could have told him anyway. There was no escape for us, and even if we had managed to flee, what should have become of him?  
  
Returning to Mirkwood without me once again would have gotten him into more terrible trouble than ever, and coming with me to lead the life I had led until now would not have been a pleasant thing, either, especially considering how very difficult it had seemed to him to get even two ridiculous bottles of brandy out of a goblin lair.... It would have taken a lot of time to turn him into a good thief!  
  
Fortunately, the king's voice interrupted my idle speculations about what sort of outlaw my dear Mordil would have made.  
  
I greeted the king's Sword Masters politely, receiving at least a nod in return, and I knew they were studying me even now, noting my posture, the way I held my weapon – and that I was assessing them in turn.  
  
One of them was a tall Sinda, clad in grey, brown hair caught in an austere braid, whose eyes clearly said 'Accursed Noldo! And a thief, at that!' when they came to rest upon my face; I fear my eye answered 'Haughty Sinda, hit over the head a bit too much by some son of Feanor, hm?' when I met his gaze. In response to that, his hand moved to touch the hilt of the magnificent sword he was carrying on his belt. It appeared to be a heavy weapon, approximately as long as the Noldorin blades I preferred, but a bit broader; I could have sworn that this valiant Sword Master would have chosen a battle axe over any bow or spear if no sword had been available to him.  
  
Perhaps I would have been spared having to fight against Mordil if I had put just a little more provocation into my glance then, as this Sinda looked only too ready to teach the wicked Noldorin invader some manners. I would not have been averse to duelling him; he seemed like a proper opponent, sure of his skills and eager to fight.  
  
Alas, before he could make a move that might have let him incur the king's wrath as well, his companion, a raven-haired Silvan, placed a hand on his arm, and its light touch seemed to be enough of a reminder that we were not in a Laketown inn or in the wild, but in Thranduil's throne room.  
  
This second Sword Master was half a head smaller than his Sindarin counterpart, nimble and graceful, and armed with the short, light sword developed from the knives commonly used by the Silvans, a weapon most fit for fighting on limited space in the woods and finishing the work the bows had begun. His clothing was of a certain rustic elegance, the involuntarily amusing Wilderland version of something great and flamboyant he must have seen in Rivendell, Mithlond or some great city of men, or, more likely, right in Mirkwood on a foreign ambassador. If he had travelled farther in his life, the imitation would have been more convincing.  
  
He studied me with an odd mixture of aversion and pity, and I almost regretted having exchanged Gurshak's lovely garments for my current sober attire; if I had looked a little more impressive, this second judge might have been a bit more favourable.  
  
The king had watched this scene with eyes that missed little and gave away nothing.  
  
"Remember my stipulations," he now said in a voice low with warning. "Do you have anything you wish to say before you begin, Alagaerion?"  
  
To be honest – yes, I would have liked to say a lot, but none of it would have been wise and appropriate, so I replied: "No, my king. That is -" Interrupting myself, I turned to look at Tanglinna and tipped my head. "Master Tanglinna, I apologize for the inconvenience my unexpected arrival here has caused you."  
  
Tanglinna looked a bit stunned by my apology, and I wished I could have been less formal both in words and gestures. Finally, he shook his head. "I am sorry that this inconvenience has been caused to you," he replied, his gaze shifting away.  
  
But not even this last exchange could move the king who looked slightly bemused, at best, and now waved his hand. "Pray, begin then."  
  
And so it began indeed. I bowed to the king and his family most formally before I turned to salute Mordil with my blade, giving him a grim smile; there was no way out of this except for going through it bravely, so that was what we would do.  
  
Tanglinna barely acknowledged his king and queen, but raised his sword to me, trying to return my smile without much success. He was muttering something that I could barely hear to himself: "It is like holding a bird...a bird...a bird...."  
  
For a moment, I failed to understand what he meant, but when I saw him loosen his grip on the sword hilt a little as he moved a couple of steps away from me, taking a quite decent defensive stance, I could imagine what was going on in his mind; he was probably busy recalling some sword fighting lesson long ago, someone telling him that he should hold his weapon gently like a delicate woodland bird that would be hurt if he closed his fist around it too tightly.... Poor bird and poor peacock!  
  
I would have liked to throw my sword away or at least to join Tanglinna in muttering the curses that had replaced his litany about the bird by now, but my will hardly counted here; so, with one last nod at my unfortunate friend, I attacked, but not in all earnest.  
  
These blades were meant to be used in light and playful duels, so these first tentative moves, meant to test my opponent's skill and to allow him to get used to my way of wielding a sword, went very well with it.  
  
Tanglinna did manage to parry the attack, quite well even, and I almost hoped that I had underestimated him greatly – but that was before he launched his own attack. To be honest, the blow he dealt might actually have worked if he had been holding a heavy war blade, but gripping this fancy weapon with two hands and using it in a style more suited to a broadaxe was not a good idea at all!  
  
I settled for a very simple riposte after this, something even someone who was not entirely aware of the difference between a battlefield and a royal court would be able to dodge.  
  
To my immense relief, Tanglinna did so, but there was uncertainty, even anxiety, in his face, and for a moment, he just stood there, a mere few steps away from me, doing nothing, but suddenly, with a shrug and a grin, as if he had discovered a dimension of horrible absurdity in this whole scene that had eluded him before, he lunged forward again before anybody could accuse us of holding back, and our blades moved together again.  
  
"They should have given him a bow!" I heard the Sindarin Sword Master remark, his voice filled with fell amusement. "That would have ended this silliness sooner!"  
  
He was very right, although he could not know that even I would have preferred being shot full of arrows to chasing a desperate Master Archer who clutched his sword as if his very life depended on holding on to it around the room, ignoring a dozen of opportunities to end this duel in a more decisive way, but simply not managing to wrench the blade from his grip. It might have been easier to disarm him if I had wounded him but a little, and he would doubtlessly have survived a bruised wrist or a slight gash on his arm – but I did not want to hurt him, not even a little. He was a friend now, and the moment short weeks ago when it had seemed excusable, even necessary to me to cut his fingers was very far away.  
  
So this ridiculous, if dangerous, dance had to continue, and I was prepared to hear the king or his Sword Masters tell me that they knew well that I was not obeying Thranduil's order and that my hand and my slim chance to find mercy were invariably forfeit. They could not believe that I was simply a very mediocre swordsman; the amount of well-controlled footwork that was necessary to get around skewering my poor Mordil was probably hard to overlook.  
  
There was no way to get out of this even halfway elegantly without causing harm I did not want to cause, and I suspected that it would ultimately be a question of who would tire first... But that decision would take some more time.  
  
Again, the blades clashed and were drawn apart, just one more beat in the rhythm of this perverse song that was meant to continue against our will, too shrill and dissonant to leave any hope of a vaguely harmonious ending.  
  
What possessed me to alter the tune a bit then, to try a mean feint, I do not know. Perhaps I hoped that Mordil would realize what I was doing the very last moment and would have to readjust his grip on the sword, offering me the split second necessary to disarm him, or maybe my mind was weary and sick of this game and made me do what I would have done had this been just any fight against any opponent.  
  
All I remember clearly is that Tanglinna fell for the feint too well, so well that it became impossible to pretend that I had not seen I had succeeded, so well that there was no excuse for not letting my blade continue its way straight into his unprotected flesh – and of course, I stopped the sword in mid-air before it came even remotely close enough to him to do even the slightest damage.  
  
My friend and opponent stared at me in disbelief, slowly lowering his weapon when he realized that I was not going to continue the duel; he knew as well as I that my violation of the king's one condition had ruined everything. I tried to smile at him and hoped he understood that there were more important things than my hand – still holding the sword's hilt now, but probably to be found under a blade very soon – or even a chance to lead a good and honest life. Perhaps we would be able to meet secretly somewhere from time to time, in Laketown, or in the depths of the forest where neither cruel kings nor troublesome goblins were to be found?  
  
But Tanglinna's gaze flitted away and over to the king who held up a hand now, a brow raised in an odd mixture of reprimand, nonchalance and fell amusement. "Alagaerion, what was that? I told you that you must not hold yourself back, and yet this appears to be what you just did?" He glanced at his Sword Masters who nodded in agreement.  
  
I had expected Thranduil to say just this, and he was right indeed; yet, the way he said it, even with a hint of feigned astonishment, as if he, who had gleefully reiterated the fact that Tanglinna and I had become 'good friends', had not known all along that it would come to this, angered me even more than his insane decision to let us fight had done.  
  
With more of a grand gesture than might have been necessary, I cast away my sword and watched it skitter across the stone floor until it hit the dais and came to rest before it. It felt oddly liberating to be rid of this cursed piece of metal that had not been put to good use here, and was I not free to do and say whatever pleased me now?  
  
I would lose a hand and be confined in a cell for long months anyway; telling the king what he deserved to be told could hardly make my sentence more terrible, and letting him know that I did not approve of him and his fiendish delight in playing with us was well worth having to brave the wrath of some prison guards.... Not that I would not regret boldness later – but now, it seemed very appropriate.  
  
"My king, I refuse to continue this farce!"  
  
It would not have surprised me if Thranduil had answered this affront by having me dragged to the dungeons at once; instead, he lifted a brow yet again and enquired with an unnerving semblance of patient benevolence: "Whatever do you mean?" If he meant to provoke me further, he succeeded perfectly well.  
  
He could be glad that I had dropped the blade already. I could not remember when I had last felt this angry with anybody; it might well have been back at the Fens of Serech when an orc had tried to stab my father from behind and I had fully realized for the first time that my beloved adar was not invulnerable, a thing I had known in my mind, of course, without really acknowledging it in my heart that had still been filled with the last innocence of youth then. Sometimes, childhood chooses the wrong moment to end. It had been the orc's bad luck that this unpleasant realization had come to me with a jolt while he had been in reach of my sword – and it was the king's bad luck that I had little to lose.  
  
With some effort, I managed to convert my urge to slap him across his arrogant face in front of his retainers into a mere cold glare, replying: "I will admit that it is your good right to test both my skills and my sincerity, my king, and that you may choose whatever trial seems appropriate to you - but this is nothing but a farce. If you wish to punish your Master Archer for his outstanding decency and kindness, you should at least have the good taste not to use me as your executioner."  
  
These words apparently impressed Mordil much more than the king; he looked aghast and shook his head, opening his mouth to speak, be it to tell me what a terrible fool I was or to beg the king not to take me too seriously.  
  
In any case, he did not get very far, for the king interrupted him before he had even halfway begun. "So, you think that this was a farce and nothing more? You think that I chose Tanglinna as the one to pit you against as a punishment for him?" he asked, regarding me closely, but rather with interest than with great wrath. "What you do not understand, Alagaerion, is that I have learned more about you during this 'farce' than you can know."  
  
More than I could know? That was unlikely; he had certainly realized what a fool I was, completely misjudging both the king and the situation, and that was all that was to realize here!  
  
Why had I believed that this was some sort of cruel farce or even a test of my sword fighting skills? It should have been obvious to me from the very beginning that my mere ability to wield a blade more or less well was not what would make Thranduil decide if I could be allowed to stay in his realm, and had I been less frightened and worried, it would have been obvious to me.... I almost believed I could here my father's voice, chuckling a little and commenting: 'Stupid elfling! You realize this now?' Now indeed, after this gruesome duel that I could have ended much earlier....  
  
So all the king could surmise about me was probably that I was particularly stupid at times, but at least sincere in calling his Master Archer my friend.  
  
Feeling very defeated and very foolish, I finally bowed my head. "I apologize for my harsh words."  
  
Thranduil's face was impassive yet again. "Apology accepted. Now tell me, Alagaerion. Do you think you deserve to have your hand struck from your body for your crimes?"  
  
The king's voice was very calm, almost indifferent, and for one moment, I dared hope that this was just another trial, a question asked mainly to learn how repentant I truly was, not an unchangeable verdict, but then, I saw Tanglinna's shoulders slump, and I knew I had dared hope for too much. He knew the king better than I did; if he did not believe that this would end well, it would not.  
  
If this was to be my punishment, then, there was nothing left than to go through it and this preliminary game of question and answer with as much dignity as I had left after the most unfortunate beginning of my conversation with the king.  
  
The question allowed various answers, that much was certain, but Thranduil would hardly expect me to improvise a philosophical discourse on the appropriateness of elven legislation on theft, and pointing out that my personal opinion might differ from what law prescribed in this respect would have been very unwise. So, I merely inclined my head once again and replied: "I do, my king."  
  
If the king approved of my answer, he chose not to show it, but only enquired: "And is it still your intent to come here, to begin an 'honest life'?"  
  
Perhaps this was a ceremonious and complicated way of informing me that my plea was as good as granted; if not so, it was the most insane question that I had been asked until then. What did Thranduil expect, that I would tell him that I had just changed my mind, but that I would gladly let them hack off my hand anyway? Valar! This king could be trying!  
  
But losing my temper with him once was enough for one day. "It is."  
  
Again, the king glanced at the two Sword Masters, who nodded slightly at this wordless question and had at least the grace to look impressed with what they had seen. However, their judgement did not seem to be the only one that counted, for the king's gaze slid to the Noldorin lady, who gave a nod as well – and smiled, a pleased and kind smile, quite obviously not meant for Thranduil, who quickly turned away again to look at me once more.  
  
"I want you to understand something, Alagaerion", he said, and I could not help thinking that I would have preferred him not to use my father's name with such an amount of condescension. "IF I accept your request and welcome you into my realm then I do not wish to ever hear of anything questionable about you from hence forth. Is that understood?"  
  
"It is understood, my king," I gravely assured him, but I was relaxing a little; it sounded as if he was going to let me stay, albeit I had insulted him for a second time.  
  
Yet, even though I had already suspected that much, my heart sang with joy at the confirmation of my hopeful thoughts. "Then...I believe that we will allow you to stay," the king replied, placing one hand over that of his wife who did not look quite content with this new development, "but do not think that you will go unpunished." His eyes travelled to his Sword Masters for one last wordless exchange before he continued: "I will allow you to keep your hand, for I believe that Thinruth and Vardamar will find you useful...after you are released from the dungeons."  
  
I could have laughed and wept with joy, and it was very hard to suppress the happy smile that threatened to come to my face. They would let me keep my hand.... They would let me keep my hand, and I would be allowed to stay, and all would be well! Spending some time in the dungeons would not be too unbearable, and later, I could fetch Alagant, and things would be as they were supposed to be... It had suddenly become a most beautiful day.  
  
I bowed to the king. "This generosity is most undeserved, my king - I do thank you." But at the same time, I dared to glance sideways at Mordil, hoping to see the overwhelming happiness I felt mirrored on his face.  
  
"It is undeserved, Alagaerion, but I am a merciful king and on rare occasion I show it to those I deem worthy of my mercy." Thranduil stated, and I had to concede that he knew very well how to turn this into a demonstration of the qualities a good ruler is supposed to exhibit. I should have felt less amused that his grip on the queen's hand tightened while he spoke, but all was bright and good and kind now, and I pushed all worry that the queen's opinion on the matter might prove to be an obstacle at some point aside.  
  
"Thank you, Thranduil." This was Tanglinna, sounding quite incredulous, but undeniable pleased with the outcome of this. He turned to grin at me with relief, and had we not been before the king's throne and serious, poised old warriors, we would doubtlessly have embraced and danced about like very happy elflings.  
  
But neither the time nor the place were very appropriate for such spontaneous displays of joy, and so we contented ourselves with exchanging a smile.  
  
As for the others present, they did not look too dissatisfied with the course the events had taken, not counting the queen.  
  
The king, in turn, seemed to feel very good about his decision; as he stood and held out his arm for his wife to lead her out of the throne room, he nodded to Ecthelhador. "Please escort Tanglinna back to his cell and find a suitable one for Alagaerion as well." He gave us what could pass for a reassuring smile, and I was glad to know that Oropherion did not allow me to stay only grudgingly, even though I could not quite forgive him that he still refused to recognize that I had a given name.  
  
"Welcome to Mirkwood, Linlote!" Mordil hurriedly said with a broad smile, probably regretting as much as I that we would not have any time to talk or celebrate now.  
  
"Thank you," I replied, returning the smile and meaning to thank him for everything that he had done for me ever since we had first met on the battlefield by the Lonely Mountain.  
  
Like this, my lovely new life began, and it should have made me very suspicious even then that it started with being locked up in a narrow, gloomy cell in Thranduil's dungeons.   
  
I believe Ecthelhador, captain of the guards, is a frustrated minstrel. Whenever he was on duty, he made a point to visit me, singing the creative little ditty he had composed and entitled "The Duel of the One-eyed Thief and the Silver Archer".  
  
"Clinking, clashing, Swords a-flashing, Blades a silver flow. The one-eyed thief with wondrous skill Did bring the silver archer low."  
  
It grew rather tiresome after the fiftieth hearing or so. And yet...it was true, much to my everlasting chagrin.  
  
I had plenty of time after the duel, sitting in my rather drear cell, to contemplate my poor skill with a sword. Admittedly, this was not always so. Riwmegor had taught me well, even if there had been a great deal of animosity on both sides that often showed itself in anger and harsh words, and occasionally he would slash my arms or wrists. "Reminders that you must not let your guard down, you great Silvan idiot!" I had not enjoyed those lessons, though I had learned something from them, never knowing that I would actually need to use this skill. I was an archer and any martial duty would be performed behind a longbow, not a sword.  
  
But at Dagorlad, I had gladly taken up my sword, the sword made for me by my troublesome father-in-law, who had died trying to protect my Celair and our child when I had not been there to do so. Only too gladly had I wielded Celair-Dagnir with a soul-sickening resolve and fell glee; I had used it with a rage burning in me, an unholy anger at the losses I had suffered, losses that I could even now on occasion admit that I had not entirely recovered from. I had not been my self entirely during those long years spent fighting in Gorthaur the Cruel's black, forsaken land. When at last we had what passed for victory and journeyed home once more, I had put my sword away, tucked in the bottom of a trunk filled with nothing but shattered memories of a life that I could no longer have. For I had found that, though anointed with the blood of my enemies, the grief and guilt still existed; all the death that had been my path for so long had not assuaged the anguish in my heart. I had learned something in Dagorlad, my sword in hand... and it was not a pleasant lesson.  
  
With a bow, you need never look in the eyes of the one you have slain. With a sword, it is different. You became entwined in a dance of death with your opponent, regardless of how long the engagement lasted, several heart-stopping moments or a mere heartbeat. They were your enemies, you knew nothing of them, and yet in their eyes were the mirrored emotions that tore at your own soul: hatred, rage, fear, confusion, pain. All was seen in their eyes before they died in a fountain-like spray of blood.  
  
There were footfalls in the hall, slow, unhurried, one might say leisurely. They were accompanied by a low, playful humming. Ah...it was Ecthelhador the Silver-Tongued-Not-A-Minstrel of Mirkwood. I sighed, wondering what he could possibly want now. I had already heard his glorious song once today when he brought me breakfast. It was not time for another meal, which meant.... I did not know what it meant.  
  
There was a noise at the door - no doubt he was peering into the dimness, maybe studying the wall across from him, which held my Great Work. It had been finished for some time now, having added the duel, which crept around onto the adjacent wall. Alagaith looked every inch a swordsman, elegant and dashing. Me...I looked, well, the Silver Peacock looked decidedly un- peacocky for a change. I had ceased adding little things here and there, for it had reached the point where one more star here, 0ne more leaf there, one more silver blur of blades would have been too much. It was done. Yet...this adjacent wall was growing into a rather dark corner, the paintings done there all in black, greys and reds as my thoughts deteriorated as was inevitable after a battle and the loss of so much life.  
  
Battles I had seen aplenty, and each time these shadowed beings born of my own regrets would come stealing in like phantoms to catch me unaware. My first battle I had faced only one opponent, and while I may have appeared to be the victor, he took more from me than I had from him. I had merely ended his physical life, but he had set me on the pathway that would be my life, a life I did not want, one filled with grief and guilt over my shortcomings and failures and then the struggles I set upon myself to assure that I would not fail anyone ever again, an impossibility it seemed. It had taught me many things...things I would rather not know of. Many of life's lessons are hard.  
  
Each time I had faced battle and death, whether it was at Doriath, the Havens at Sirion, Dagorlad, and now Erebor, the clinging darkness that ate at my soul would surface anew. This was why Thranduil had decided I should escort Alagaith to Gladaran Thamas after I had captured him. He wanted to allow me a respite from the sights and sounds, the emotions that filled every battle and its aftermath, that took me back to that road I no longer wished to travel but could not avoid. All that was wounded and vulnerable in me surfaced at this time – a vulnerability that few ever were witness to, or one that I even liked to confess to myself.... Thranduil knew me too well.  
  
And so, it appeared, did Ecthelhador. Why else sing his one song over and over if not annoy the Master Archer from his morose mood? I smiled into the darkness before exhaling loudly, knowing he could hear me.  
  
"Yes, Ecthelhador?" I called, not moving from where I sat, huddled in the far corner where he could not see me. I wondered if he bore news of Alagaith. I had not spoken to nor seen him since the duel, and on occasion Ecthelhador would tell me how he fared. Still, I would have liked to have spoken to Linlote face to face. It was not the best way to begin one's new life – seated in a lonely cell with no friendly face or visitors that he knew – no visitors of any sort except the infuriating Ecthelhador, guard captain extraordinaire. I could not go to him to offer encouragement or conversation...I was in the same situation as he was.  
  
"What is it?" I asked in a slightly sharper tone as my query had gone unanswered.  
  
"It is a nice, bright morning, Master Archer," he said at last.  
  
I could almost hear him grin as he said this. He was delighting in this trivial observation of the weather. It was not much of anything, rather like asking, "How are you?" – nothing indeed, except to a prisoner who had not seen the sun in a blue sky except by staring at the one he had painted on the stone wall opposite him, a mere mimicry of the original – flawed and merely... paint. It had no warmth, no light....  
  
I sneered into the dark, even as I thanked the Valar for letting Ecthelhador arrive when he did. This would be a much more pleasant diversion than listening to the bleak thoughts that rattled in my mind like dry bones.  
  
"I am glad to hear it," I called sarcastically, shifting my position slightly. "If it is so 'nice and bright,' then why are you down here where it is never 'nice and bright,' but only gloomy and drear, and where one tends to brood and think wicked thoughts about certain captains that insist on telling one that it is a 'nice and bright' morning?"  
  
Again, I knew he smiled. He enjoyed this as much as I did.  
  
"So, you would like me to go away again, would you?" he asked cheerfully. "Mind you, I can leave at once.... I will simply explain to the king then that you refuse to see him in his study now, and I am sure that you will not be disturbed again for a very long time...."  
  
I was amazed when he said this, and then even more amazed when he was moving away from the cell!  
  
The king wanted to see me? Now?  
  
I leapt to my feet, hastening to the small window and grasped the black iron bars and peering out, my face to the bars.  
  
"Ecthelhador, please! What does he want?"  
  
It was obviously not to set me free; Thranduil had never summoned me to his study for that before, and I doubted that he would want to start now. So what could it be? What trouble was there now? Had something transpired concerning Alagaith?  
  
"Ah.... So you are not going to disobey another order, are you?"  
  
Ecthelhador was there again, watching me, slowly sliding the heavy dark locks back from the door, their noise harsh in the sepulchral silence of these stone corridors and rooms. His eyes met mine, shining and as bright as the morning was outside undoubtedly. The key to my cell was held negligently in his fingers, and then he spun it about his forefinger before inserting it into the lock, whistling "The Duel Of The One-Eyed Thief And The Silver Archer". With great care he turned it and the tumblers clanked as they gave way one by one.  
  
"Yes," he continued after slowly opening the door for me. "He wants to see you now; you should hurry."  
  
Hurry? Hurry?! After his lingering performance with the cell door, not to mention his dawdling pace in arriving here, he dared to tell me that Thranduil wanted me there now?  
  
"Do you know why he wants to see me?" I growled, glaring at him as I stepped past him into the hallway, the torchlight dancing over the stones. The air here was fresher than in the cell, which tended to be as dank and joyless as cells were reputed to be. You could almost smell the river where it flowed by the water-gate. It was the smell of freedom, but I scarcely noticed.  
  
Ecthelhador shrugged, not at all impressed with my facial contortions that had always set the younglings scurrying to do what I had told them. He clearly did not care why I had been summoned, only that I had been.  
  
"It might be about that Noldorin pest," he said at last, with a sly glance at me.  
  
If he hoped for me to retort with harsh words, giving him fodder for more antagonistic banter, he was disappointed. This is what I had feared. Something had happened concerning Alagaith. Thranduil had repented of his decision to give my poor Linlote a chance - or Firithiel had changed his mind for him with her obvious unhappiness over said decision. She could be as stubborn as he was at times. And she was a female.... They did know how to spear someone with a look equally filled with disappointment and accusation, and then moved gracefully aside as the male they had skewered with such skill with this glance hastened to make things right again.  
  
"Take me to him," I murmured, trying not to think at all...but...if something had changed, gone awry while I rotted down here in this cheerless, silent place...I would have to find a way to rectify it. The unfairness of this was nigh overwhelming!  
  
I trailed after Ecthelhador, who seemed to take the "no talking to the prisoner" to heart now, for he said not another word, merely hummed his little ditty under his breath as we moved up the corridor.  
  
My heart was hammering in my chest and I drew several deep breaths, trying to concentrate on them and not on the myriad worries that suddenly assaulted me, preying relentlessly on my mind. If I told myself all the stories of that pressed in my head, fearing that some of them might prove to be true, I would doubtless not be of any use in defending Alagaith to Thranduil.  
  
It seemed that an age must have passed before we finally arrived at the carved door behind which lay Thranduil's study. I drew a couple more breaths, vowing to keep my temper in check regardless of what was said or what had been done.... Certainly he had not taken Alagaith out and chopped off his hand! Surely, they would have told me...wouldn't they? What if they had and then forced him to leave? Valar! No...Thranduil would not do that. It had to be something else....It had to be! No stories!  
  
I stared up at the doors, gazing at the gracefully crafted beech trees with twining boughs that adorned them, and made myself count the squirrels and birds, and even the smallish stray spiders that were hidden in the branches. It was a somewhat playful carving considering that beyond it lay the room where Thranduil attended to the more tedious aspects of ruling a kingdom, but his children rejoiced over this door and its whimsical decorations. This was why Thranduil had told Tawarant specifically to carve this door in this manner.  
  
"I want them to be entertained while waiting for me to finish in here," he had explained with a grin that day so long ago. "They must see something fun and exciting and ... cute."  
  
I did not find the door overly fun, exciting, or cute though...not just now. How could I when I feared that Alagaith's fate lay on the other side of it?  
  
My hand closed over the cold round door knob, its surface graved to look like a sun, the rays extending out and around behind it. I glanced once more back at Ecthelhador who shrugged, totally uncaring and walked away from me.  
  
"When all was still within the Hall,  
  
Upon a drear night it did befall,  
  
When hushed was the sound of the lute,  
  
Nor yet was heard song of silver flute,  
  
The stranger did come striding in And then a wonder did begin.  
  
Of shining heroes, I have none.  
  
Of glowing eyes, he had but one.  
  
Yet strong he was and swift and fleet,  
  
And quite nimble upon his feet.  
  
Flashing sword was in his hand;  
  
He should face the best within our land."  
  
I drew a breath then exhaled slowly, knocked once and pulled the door open before entering Thranduil's study.  
  
The king was seated in a carved chair of some dark, exotic wood that matched the large desk behind which he sat. This furniture was reportedly made by orcs in some distant city in the East, but of course that was quite ridiculous. Orcs could craft nothing so elegant or beautiful.... Needless to say, I would not mention this to Alagaith for undoubtedly he would have gainsaid me. I know that his friend Seven must have been a rather extraordinary orc but, in general, they could not be quite as civilized as he was - nor as skilled in carving and crafting furniture. Why would orcs need chairs and desks? But no, I could not think of Alagaith now...or I might think of him with one hand and alone in the woods...begin eaten by a stray spider, unable to defend himself....  
  
Valar! Be still!   
  
I bowed gracefully to Thranduil as I stood in the doorway waiting for him to acknowledge me. He was bent over paperwork, wearisome but necessary part of the running of a realm. He appeared to be rather calm and not anxious for my presence in the least...yet Ecthelhador had said to hurry.... I frowned slightly, wondering if the good captain had been toying with me over the urgency of the king's summons. Obviously, he had.  
  
"Aran-hir, I am sorry," I began when Thranduil continued to write on the parchment stretched before him, "if I kept you waiting."  
  
I resisted the urge to neaten my braid, for I had done that on the way here as well as I could, my fingers moving swiftly in my hair and tying it with a slim blue cord. My appearance was not appropriate for a meeting with the king, but since I had no other garments than the paint-stained ones I was wearing in my cell, nor even a comb to run through my rather messy hair, my slightly bedraggled appearance would have to suffice. I thought that perhaps if Thranduil were not in such a hurry then I could have managed to go to my little house across the river and make myself more presentable or even just find a bucket of clean water to wash my hands and face, but no.... Ecthelhador had said to hurry, and hurry I had...only to find the king was still rather busy with his paperwork, and not quite ready to deal with me.  
  
My fingers plucked at the rather dirty tunic, one nail scrapping at a smear of red paint that stood our rather garishly on the sage green fabric. Really, I should be more careful when I am painting. Paint did not yield easily once it had set into the fabric.  
  
The king glanced up then, quirking one brow at me, my hand dropping once more to my side.  
  
"Apology accepted, Tanglinna," he said brusquely before returning to his paperwork and the only sound for quite sometime was the scratching of his quill on the parchment.  
  
I studied him for a moment, but soon realized that he was indeed not ready to speak with me, and I would have to wait patiently for him to finish this business at hand.  
  
You will be sorry for this, Ecthelhador, I sang in my head, the melody of which sounded entirely too much like his little ditty. I did not want that song running non-stop through my head as it had already too often, so I turned my attention to the tapestry behind Thranduil, crossing my arms behind my back and suppressing a sigh.  
  
It was an exquisite piece of work, stitched by Thranduil's lady-mother Auriell. She had made it for Oropher back in our early days in Greenwood. It was of the legendary white stag that haunted these woods, ever beautiful - ever allusive. The stag was framed by two fir trees, their branches entwined over the animal's elegant snowy head; he stood surrounded by the native flowers of our forest fastness, a wreath of holly about his neck for Auriell had presented this as a gift one Yule.  
  
"It will never be caught but by your skilled threads, my Lady Dawn," he had said with an affectionate smile at her. He always called her this: Lady Dawn. She was everything bright and beautiful to him, filling him with hope for what life could be here.  
  
A faint smile touched my lips as I recalled those distant bygone days before the shadow had chased us ever northward, wreaking sorrow and loss in our midst. Auriell had smelled of lily-of-the-valley, those radiant little, snowy bells, bright reminders of new life and spring. I had first met her in a protected garden in Menegroth, surrounded by greenery and twinkling coloured lights. She had been dressed in green herself, the fabric shimmering as she knelt beside Oropher and myself, her belly swelling with their son before whom I stood even now. Her hands on my face had been soft and gentle, her voice as sweet as the larks' singing,  
  
"Do you think it will be necessary to keep you confined in the dungeons any longer?"  
  
I started, broken from my reverie by a voice that was definitely not like the singing of larks! I looked down to see Thranduil watching me appraisingly as he leaned back in his 'orc-carved' chair. I did not -thank the Valar - merely blurt out the first words that leapt into my mind.  
  
"If you think it unnecessary to confine me any longer," I said trying to sound humble and repentant, for it would not do at all to anger him when I did not know exactly why I had been hastened here, "then I will thank you for it, hir-nin."  
  
Thranduil gave a curt nod, not very impressed with my unaccustomed humility.  
  
"Very well then - you will be free to go," he said, his sapphire-bright eyes never wavering from my face, though I fancied I saw a slight mark of disgust pass over his face as he took in my appearance.  
  
I dropped my gaze, feeling a bit self-conscious. Why had Ecthelhador not let me tidy up a bit?!  
  
"But," the king continued in a stern voice, his eyes growing cold as I lifted my eyes to his, "the matter that brought you to the dungeons in the first place is not entirely resolved yet."  
  
Dread ran through me like a winter-iced stream at these words.  
  
"What...what do you mean, hir-nin?" I asked quietly, praying that he was not going to say that Alagaith would have to leave Mirkwood after his imprisonment. More stories crowed in my mind, but I pushed them down, concentrating on my king and friend.  
  
"You know what I mean, Tanglinna. I cannot keep that Noldo thief imprisoned forever, although it has been argued that exactly this would be a wise thing to do. Yet I cannot simply release that criminal either."  
  
I frowned at this obvious pronouncement. A slight relief melted some of the chill that had settled in my heart. Alagaith was obviously still here in a cell.  
  
"No," I began, "you...you cannot keep him imprisoned forever. But...tell me...why can you not release him after a time? I thought...not that I presume to know what your august majesty is thinking, but I thought...you were going to let Alagaith and his son live here."  
  
Fear tightened once more about my heart. Though he had not said thus, I knew that Firithiel had made her views on this quite clear. The queen would have no love for Alagaith and undoubtedly could not see beyond the fact that he was a robber of the dead, a Noldorin thief with no honour and therefore no worth whatsoever.  
  
"Is that not ...possible?" I finished, my voice barely above a whisper.  
  
Thranduil was not looking at me then, but staring at a large mural painted on the wall behind me. I had painted it there for him many years before. The king was depicted – quite realistically this time – in his hunting leathers of rich green embroidered with flashing silver, his golden hair streaming behind him as he and his fellow hunters gave chase to a fleeing stag, not the mystical white one that would never be caught, but one of the many red ones that lived here in northern Mirkwood. The horses were eagerly leaping in its wake, manes flying, tails aloft in delight at this merry pursuit. Much as Tawarant had done with the door to the study, I had hidden several small woodland creatures in the towering trees that were wreathed in autumn's best and brightest colours. There were the black squirrels leaping in the trees' limbs, voles and mice hidden beneath the grasses and stands of palest mushrooms. A rabbit peered from the ferns, and myriad birds adorned the branches and the sky overhead. Even Thranduil's lean-limbed hounds cavorted through the trees, red tongues lolling.  
  
I frowned slightly, thinking that this time the fleeing prey with eyes wide with the uncertainty of its future was not the stag depicted behind me, but Alagaith. He was at the king's mercy, and though Thranduil had indeed shown mercy to Alagaith, the situation was far from certain.  
  
"The existence of that son complicates things further," Thranduil said suddenly. "One thief, bad enough, but two thieves?"  
  
His eyes moved to me now, one eyebrow lifted in query, as he awaited my answer.  
  
Anger now melted the rest of the fear, for he was deliberately provoking me. I knew that he was not doing this carelessly, and therefore, I drew several deep breaths, counting each one slowly, until I felt I could speak without sounding like a roaring Balrog spitting fire and death.  
  
"Alagaith wishes to put that life behind him, hir-nin. He does not want that life for his son. Why do you think he came here? To steal away your carefully hoarded treasure?"  
  
I broke off my words abruptly, realizing that the Balrog still lurked in the shadows and had been about to say something that could prove disastrous. Why had I even mentioned his precious treasure? That was not something that he even allowed one to joke about...not usually any way, and yet I had ventured in that forbidden direction without realizing it!  
  
An embarrassed flush coloured my cheeks as he studied me intently.  
  
"Now, that is an interesting possibility...." He frowned slightly as he said this. "Actually, I had not thought of that before."  
  
I saw one of his long elegant hands move to cover the gilded hilt of an exquisite little letter opener on his desk. It had been a gift from some dwarf-lord, whose name escaped me. I could have cursed myself for giving him ideas that only pleaded the case against Alagaith! But I had no time to make things worse, for he was speaking again.  
  
"In any case, we cannot be sure what drove that thief here, and he cannot be trusted...yet."  
  
I dropped my gaze to the stone floor at my feet, not really seeing the large, lovely carpet of green and silver that spread out from beneath the desk. I ground my teeth together, choking back all the words I could say but refused to.  
  
"Will the time that he can be trusted ever come, hir-nin?" I hissed, slowly looking up to meet his gaze, my eyes blazing hotly. I had told him why Alagaith wanted to come here! Alagaith had told him as well! And yet...and yet...!  
  
Thranduil smiled nonchalantly, a slight curving of his lip.  
  
"We can only hope so!" he answered in a jaunty, teasing voice. "But before, I will not allow that thief to move freely in my realm...especially not as I have seen what he can do with a sword."  
  
I suppose that this was a rather backward compliment about Alagaith's skill, but I hardly noticed.  
  
"Then what do you propose is to be done? Hir-nin...please, do not dash the slim hope that you have given him by showing your great mercy thus far! I beg you! Do not take that from him! He has lost so much of what he has had in life that.... Please. There must be some solution that will satisfy you and ...the others, until you can learn that Alagaith is sincere in his dream of starting a new life here.... Don't destroy him...."  
  
I hated begging like this, throwing myself at his feet as it were, but I was not doing it for myself...I would not have done it for myself. All I could think was that if Alagaith were to be sent away now, after having been given the thin silvery thread of hope, it might destroy him forever. To have this dream of something better taken away would not be easy to live with, and I knew he would not try to start a new life, an honest life, ever again. He would feel there was no use in trying. I knew what it felt like to lose your dream forever, and I did not wish that hopeless agonizing pain on anyone, certainly not on this elf that I now considered a very good friend, one whose welfare I truly cared for.  
  
Thranduil stared at me in what appeared to be amazement. He opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it, beckoning for me to sit in the chair placed near the desk.  
  
"Stop this at once, Tanglinna," he said at long last, his expression almost kind.  
  
But I would have none of it. I glared at the floor once more, or I would be glaring at him. I did not sit, but stood with my fists clenched helplessly at my sides. Once started, I would not be stop until I had an answer, finding myself carried along like a leaf tossed into a flowing river current.  
  
"Stop what, Thranduil? Defending someone whom I trust my very life with? Stop making you uncomfortable because you have a decision to make and my words are not easing that any?"  
  
Slowly, I glance up at him, wanting him to see the sincerity that shaped these words. If he could see past my desperate anger.  
  
"I cannot believe that you would have given Alagaith such false hope. That is cruelty that I did not think you possessed! If you are going to tell me that he has no chance here, then be done with it!"  
  
I wanted it ended! I wanted him to decide one way or another, no more playing at word games.... Yet...his face took on an inscrutability that would have impressed Arasceleg. My shoulders slumped.  
  
"Passionate and touching," he said, the sarcasm biting into me and I feared I had indeed sentenced Alagaith to his life as a thief for all time, "as your words are, Tanglinna, you have not listened properly. I did not say that I was going to drive your precious 'friend' from this forest." The word 'friend' had been hissed with great derision and I felt my heart dying within me. Yet, what had he said? I found myself trying to see past the red haze of my anger that clouded my vision as he continued. "He may stay here, but in somewhat restricted freedom. And as you have brought me this thief, you will be his gaoler."  
  
I could not speak for a time, but merely stared at him, trying to 'listen properly' to what he had said. He had said Alagaith may stay? He had said that? Happiness welled within me and threatened to rip my face in half with an ever-widening smile that threatened. Yet.... "What do you mean his 'gaoler'?" I asked, wondering exactly what this did mean. Was Linlote going to have to return to the dungeon every night? Surely not!  
  
"Is that so hard to understand? You will make sure that this thief stays where he should be and does what he is supposed to do – he will be your responsibility as soon as he is released from the dungeons." A wry smile graced his lips then, eyes unreadable. "If it was not for that son of his, I would leave that duty to Ecthelhador – just keeping that thief in the dungeons and letting him out when it is necessary would be the easiest thing- But I can hardly make a mere elfling of twelve years a prisoner for months or years because his father has done wrong – so the thief will have to stay elsewhere, and as I would not burden any innocent with him, your house will be the place."  
  
I took a few ragged breaths, hardly believing what had just transpired. Had I listened properly, or was I dreaming this entire episode back in my cell? No, I was not dreaming for I had moved one hand to pinch my opposite arm...not that I believed that pinching oneself would really prove anything at all. Thank the Valar! Alagaith was to be freed and was to come and stay with me! I could easily have stood there some minutes, pondering what had been said, happily repeating Thranduil's words over and over again in my mind, but that would not have been a good thing. Thranduil might change his mind in that space of time; it was best to hasten away from here.  
  
"Thank you, Thranduil. I...I...." There were no words to adequately express what I was feeling at that moment. If I had tried, I would have failed to be eloquent and merely stammered rather confused bits of happiness and joy. "Thank you," I said, not even trying to find the correct words. "You will see...all will be...well." A grin did quirk my lips then, since those words had been used before in a rather odd situation and they had indeed proven true! They would prove true again in this case!  
  
Thranduil smiled then, a genuine smile filled with affection.  
  
"You may leave now, Master Archer," he said, waving a dismissing hand at me.  
  
I knew he must still harbour doubts about this decision, but at least Alagaith was being given a true chance! A true chance!  
  
I smiled at the king, bowed and backed from the room, my mind already on what I would tell Alagaith about what had transpired here, what things I would need to get since I lived alone and my home was not adequately stocked with food or bedding for more than one person. I mouthed "thank you" at Thranduil before closing the door behind me.  
  
I did not leap for joy until I was at least 10 feet away from the study door, and this time it was not Ecthelhador who sang, but me. It was rather a nice song after all.  
  
"Yet not the best with sword was he  
  
'Twas chosen to face the thief, you see;  
  
But arrow swift and bended bow  
  
Was how he chose to down his foe.  
  
Yet forth the silver archer stood  
  
And tried to best the thief...if he could.  
  
Clinking, clashing,  
  
Blades a-flashing,  
  
Swords a silver flow.  
  
The one-eyed thief with wondrous skill  
  
Did bring the silver archer low."  
  
TBC  
  



	2. Chapter 2 A Time To Trust

"Shall we, Mordil?" a tall one-eyed Noldorin elf asks in a low amused voice, gesturing at the waiting, wicked beast...a printer provided by Angband Inc.

His silver-haired companion grins in response, but then glances about noticing that someone is missing.

"Where is the Mighty Printer Tamer Master Alagant?" he queries with a grin.

Alagaith vanishes silently, and then his voice can be heard calling for his son. Tanglinna waits patiently, murmuring quietly to the printer to rest assured the sweet elfling will be the one to handle it today, so it had better behave or else!

Father and son enter, Alagant eyeing the wicked paper-chomping machine thoughtfully. He is quite adept at this having done it before, but one must always approach wild beasts with the utmost caution. But...soon the papers are easing out of the purring printer and he hands them to 'Master Tanglinna' with a triumphant smile.

The Master Archer returns the smile and bows gracefully.

"Thank you, young master," he says, turning to Alagaith, who is watching the exchange with paternal pride. Tanglinna peruses the reviews then nods with a grin.

"Young **kingmaker** seems to know us very well...and our respective authors. He knows who rules in our realms." He laughs slightly at the alliteration.

Alagaith chuckles, as he reads over his companion's shoulder.

"**kingmaker**, as his name tells us, as does his fabulous story, knows a lot about kings and rulers, so I suppose he is very right." A very peacocky smile lights the Noldo's face – a look that has earned him another nickname – Alakavar the Noldorin Peacock. "And you are right, kingmaker," he continues, "Mordil could not be a bowless outlaw." He turns to glance at the archer in question and chuckles at the somewhat indignant look on Mordil's face.

"I think I would make an exemplary outlaw – bowless or not," Tanglinna protests, crossing his arms over his chest, looking a bit haughty. But then he grins ruefully. "I am not fooling anyone," he chuckles, knowing that kingmaker is quite correct in his assessment. "I shall leave the outlawry to others more capable than myself. But," he reads on, "oh dear! I am most distressed! **Carandra **thinks I act too Noldorin at times! Please, Linlote! Tell me that isn't so!" The Silvan looks rather desperate – he? Act Noldorin? The Valar forbid!

Alagaith leans back, contemplating the archer, who is half Noldorin, after all, but then he shakes his head.

"No, my dear Silvan peacock....You are not too Noldorin! And no, ere you ask – you are not behaving like 'a little kid' either, if **wellduh**'s review made you believe that you had to be worried on that account as well." He smiles fondly before continuing. "In fact, you should stay just as you are, should he, Alagant?"

The elfling smiles widely up at Tanglinna. "Yes, ada," he chirps happily, the archer smiling down at him affectionately.

"Well, I admit that I did act just a bit like a child when I learned you were going to be allowed to stay," he admits. "I have not been that happy in some time. I have to agree that our relationship does seem a bit like the odd couple, as **Aurora** pointed out so adroitly. But I do not know, Lady Aurora, if Gwibess will be in this tale or not. I suspect that Prince Legolas would not mind if she showed up now and again." Tanglinna grins, remembering how much...fun... that spider was. "And yes, **JastaElf**, Legolas will be in this tale, never fear."

Alagaith's brows rise slightly as he fears that JastaElf still believes Tree to have a very split personality. Tree may have some mental health issues, but he does not think that is one of them...until he looks at Mordil.... Alagaith shakes his head. If that were so, then he and Dragon.... No, best not to think on that!

"And, **JastaElf**? We are two. So are our authors. Even though Dragon and I readily bow to Tree and Mordil's genius, we are still there."

Tanglinna smirks a bit at the 'genius' remark.

"But," Alagaith continues," **daw the minstrel** is very right – you are about to acquire a family." He glances at Tanglinna to see how he will react to this news. "Or be adopted by one. Do not worry, daw – we will manage to Alag-ify him in no time." He winks jauntily at the screen.

"I beg your pardon? You want to what me?" the archer asks, brows rising, thinking that one moment he has been told to stay as he is and then the next moment.... "I thought you liked me the way I am. So...I am not Noldorin enough for you? Perhaps I shall turn you into dancing prancing Silvans with flowers in your hair," he rejoins with a smirk, thinking that description already applied to the Sindar living in Mirkwood. "Ahem. I must say that we have some history lovers amongst our readers! **Noldo** and **UbiquitousPitt** both remembered that the white hart was the emblem of Richard II of England." Smiles quite happily at both of them. "But these two have both made the same request – Erestor! We shall see what can be done to entice the great Erestor to accompany the Imladris visitors."

Alagaith grins a bit at this, though he is not looking forward to the 'Imladris visitors'.

"Let us hope that his flamboyant hat does not get caught in any low branches.... Then he might quickly turn into 'ridiculous Erestor'. But look – **Miss Aranel** enjoys Ecthelhador's appearances!"

"She should!" Alagant calls out with a smile, waving at his favorite elfling-lover reviewer. "Ecthelhador is nice!"

"He is, Alagant," Alagaith agrees, "He is.... **Lutris** is very right that worse things could have happened."

Tanglinna shakes his head with a grin.

"Ah, foreshadowing, are we, Linlote?" he asks, needing no answer. "I think **WeasleyTwinsLover1112** should get together with Ecthelhador and sing silly songs! Erestor could join them, you know. They sing rather silly songs with "ring ding diddle idle die oh ring die diddle oh" in Imladris too. That sounds like fun, doesn't it Alagant?" He grins at the child trying to decide which song is sillier – the Barrel Song of Mirkwood or the Valley Song of Imladris.

Surprisingly, Alagant frowns, looking very serious.

"It sounds like trouble to me, Master Tanglinna," he intones in a grave little voice. But then he giggles quite merrily, causing Tanglinna to laugh as well. Yes, it did sound like 'trouble' – fun trouble.

Alagaith grins and says, "Foreshadowing indeed, Mordil.... We can continue in this manner for, the **evil witch queen** wisely observes, we will indeed be good for you." Grinning wryly, he continues, "Or not. But **Dis Thrainsdotter** seems to agree that this new development is a good thing....So many clever reviewers simply cannot be wrong!"

Tanglinna regards Alagaith for a moment then smiles.

"Ptath seems to think I shall have to watch the two of you and the Tricksy Trio...who are trouble, Alagant! It appears several people were...concerned for the good and wise king. **Lutris** finds him amusing...not the shrieking thing he can be at times. Do not worry, Alagant," he assures the child. "He won't be doing any shrieking in this tale.... I think it will be nice to have a 'family' again," he finished with a smile at his companions.

Alagaith smiles back, but Alagant regards the archer with earnest eyes.

"Are you sure that he will not shriek? Not even at my ada?" he asks, looking a bit worried.

Alagaith smiles down at his son affectionately, and ruffles the sunny brown curls.

"Yes, Alagant," he answers. "Master Tanglinna is sure that there will not be any shrieking kings, but we might give them a shrieking Erestor, or a shrieking Ecthelhador, or Noldorin shrieks...But no more foreshadowing!"

"Hm, would the Noldorin shrieks be from you or your adar, I wonder," Tanglinna says with a smirk, thinking that Alagaer could easily shriek quite loudly if he so chose.

"We are not the only Noldor in this tale, Mordil," Alagaith points out.

"Yes, you Noldor are taking over, aren't you...or trying to. But be warned! Thranduil does not take kindly to strangers telling him what to do!" An enigmatic grin crosses his lips.

Alagaith chuckles at this.

"Yes, there will be many strangers in Mirkwood in this tale," he discloses. "Too many perhaps. But should we give our readers the chapter before we give the whole story away?"

"We give nothing away...for free," Tanglinna chuckles, thinking they just gave many clues away though! "Please do the honors, Master Alagant," he says with a bow to the elfling.

The child smiles and steps forward.

"Here is the new chapter," he announces in his clear young voice, feeling quite proud, his little face shining as he points to where it reads....

ORO chapter 2 – A Time To Trust

My first impression of Mirkwood was not bad, really, even if a space just great enough to take three or four steps in one direction at most was not much to base a judgement on, especially since I did not see more of King Thranduil's wondrous realm than bleak walls of stone, a solid oaken door and, if I gazed through the barred window in it, a corridor and yet another wall.  
  
However, while the surroundings were as charming as could be expected of a dungeon, I was treated fairly well. They did not put any chains on me, remembered to give me a blanket to keep the wintry cold that had crept through the stones to dwell in this dark place away and did not throw anything worse than suspicious glances at me. I had certainly seen more formidable guards than Captain Ecthelhador and his subordinates elsewhere, and although I remained careful, I did allow myself to hope that they would not torment me too much at any point of the time I was to spend down here.  
  
No, I did not fear my captors overly much; nevertheless, it was trying to be confined, or rather buried alive, in this cell of stone. Except for the small opening in the door, there were no windows; a vent led somewhere, or nowhere, but it only brought some amount of fresh air down into this tomb, no sight or scent or noise proving that there was still an outward world with stars, clouds, rivers, trees, snow, birds and squirrels and a faint promise of a spring yet to come, a world where elves who were neither guards nor prisoners lived, a world in which I had loved ones, a son....

But this world was far, and almost no tidings of it reached me. I could not quite decide if it was needless cruelty that the king denied me visitors, or, in fact, a good and wise decision; I would have given anything to see at least Alagant for some hours, but I knew well enough that it would have saddened both of us even more if a short visit had been allowed only to end in a new parting, new tears and new loneliness felt more keenly.  
  
Yet, even though I told myself that Alagant's absence was easier to bear than having a crying child dragged from my reluctant arms would have been, I missed him dearly and found myself worrying entirely too much. I should have known, and actually knew, that the others were going to keep him safe, warm and as happy as he could be now, but then, I was worried for them as well. What if they did not find appropriate shelter in the camp of Laketown, what if plunderers or roaming mercenaries decided that what remained of the once prosperous town would be a promising target, what if my family were driven away or got into some sort of unpredictable trouble, what if they were injured or caught some sort of disease, what if...?

The list of possible misfortunes and accidents was very long, and this time, I could not blame my imprisonment on my bad luck or on mere carelessness; I had chosen to leave them all alone, and if anything happened now due to my absence in pursuit of my foolish dream, it would be my fault, and my fault alone.  
  
In the silence and half-darkness of the cell that was only lit by the torches outside, it was easy, too easy, to follow such lines of thought for hours or days. The worries might have been bearable; I knew them and had known them for a long time. The memories were worse, not the sorrowful ones, though, those of prisons and dungeons, punishment and despair; the good memories proved to be far more painful.  
  
There were many things I recalled, and from my current perspective, the pleasant moments seemed to outnumber the times when I had secretly wept and cursed the world's injustice by far, a merry row of happy pictures, of warmth, of friendship, of what truly counted.  
  
A sudden smile, bright as a summer morn, coming to Seven's face when I had tiptoed over to the bed in which he had lain wounded in a shabby roadside inn to see whether he was still asleep, a smile that had widened when I had sat down to stay with him for a while, no words spoken between us, and none needed, to know that all was well for a heartbeat amidst all the trouble and pain...  
  
Gwindor, lazing in the grass on a warm summer's day after a long mock duel that had ended in a tie, suddenly turning his head to me and remarking: "I missed these little fights in the days before Tumhalad, One-Eye; it was quite strange to find you gone from Nargothrond when I returned from the mines."  
  
My father, storing away provisions for the winter in the cave where we had spent the time of frost and snow two years ago, grinning at me when I had brought him some apples to add to the stock, slapping my back and chuckling: "There we are again, hm? A cave dwelling on the banks of a river, and you pilfering apples... We have been there before."

Finduilas laughing when she had managed to rid a dead orc-lord of his padded tunic on the edge of a battlefield with my help, announcing: "If we were in Nargothrond now, my noble lord, I would reward you for your help with some ridiculously important title... Would it please you to be 'Royal Chief Acquisitor of Orc Tunics'? If I am to rule anything at all at any point in the future, remind me that you are just that, and more!"  
  
And finally, Alagant smiling, the autumn sun in his hair, while his little, warm fingers had been exploring the scar in my face after I had removed the eye patch for him in response to his persistent questions. "It feels strange", he had said, the movement of his hand almost turning into a caressing stroke, "strange but good." I remembered very clearly that I had smiled at these words, thinking that 'strange but good' was a most appropriate description not of my scar, but of my entire life.   
  
Thinking back now, it was easy to wonder if one bad year and some strange wood-elven magic unconsciously worked by Mordil had made me too ungrateful for what I had always had, making me wish for more than I deserved.

On good days, I would shake my head at these thoughts after some time, laugh and remind myself that, whether my choice had been right or wrong, it had been made now and was irrevocable, that getting all nostalgic would not help and was, in fact, dishonest, as I had known very well why I had refused to continue the old life that seemed so kind and inviting now.

On bad days, though, I would brood for long hours until I told myself that dungeon cells were made for brooding and that I would not fall for what this dismal place was meant to do to me. Now and then, I was bold enough to hope that my being lost in thought would be seen as an indication that I was truly repentant and regretted my heinous crimes. In truth, cloaks abducted from battlefields and fish traps emptied without their owners' consent were the very last things that held great interest for me now.

In any case, I was grateful for any sort of distraction, however brief, even if it consisted in a certain guard captain's incessant singing.  
  
_Deep down in Mirkwood's dungeons dark_

_there dwelt a special sort of lark_

_that had a mean torturer's heart_

_and would call maltreatment an art.  
For why still use whips, racks and chains_

_if silly songs cause equal pains?  
  
Singing, rhyming, words a-chiming,_

_fear his voice's touch!  
The guard who would a minstrel be_

_did bore his charges much._  
  
Forgive me – this was not Ecthelhador's song, of course, but my little addition to it, born at the time when this sort of distraction got a little annoying, even though the worthy captain's ballad should actually have flattered me.  
  
Having to listen to it every single day from the first one after the oft-mentioned duel – Ecthelhador must have been busy making poetry all night! – till Yule, that brought a brief respite due to the good captain's temporary absence, but no other joys, was fairly trying. When the singing recommenced after Yule, I had a hard time deciding whether Ecthelhador was really overly fond of his masterpiece or whether this was an exquisitely subtle form of torment indeed.  
  
I never dared to voice any sort of protest, though, least of all by singing the stupid verses I had made to Ecthelhador. The last time I had been 'singing in the dungeons', as Mordil would have put it, I had almost been strangled by an angry Mithlond guard – a former mariner I would not have had any chance against even in a regular fight – and had been rescued by one of his comrades, who had gently reminded him that there was no such thing as a death penalty for irreverent songs, just in time.  
  
Even though I did not suspected Ecthelhador, who – lopsided, old blue cap on head, humming and singing merrily – appeared peaceful enough at most times, of being quite that cruel, it was best not to provoke him; kind or not, he was and remained a prison guard, and that meant that he could not be trusted... At least, so I thought at first.

I did not expect anything out of the ordinary when I heard Ecthelhador's voice again one morning, the well-known melody of his one song following the rhythm of his steps as he approached the cell. The singing turned into soft humming when he arrived at the door; a moment later, he was peering inside through the barred window.   
  
"Good morning," he said, grinning at me as if it was a very good morning indeed. Perhaps it was – for him.  
  
I inclined my head a little and replied: "Good morning." By this time, I had gotten used to these strange conversations with the guard captain. Instead of simply getting over with what he had come to do or say, he would linger in front of the door for a while, making meaningless little remarks. Even though I suspected that he was being deliberately obnoxious, I was almost grateful for this habit; it kept me occupied for some moments every day, and that was better than nothing.  
  
Ecthelhador's grin widened at my words, turning quite maddening as it would not vanish again. "How are you faring this fine day?"  
  
If he believed he could out-smile me, he was very wrong. "I am fine, Master Ecthelhador - and it is very kind of you to ask indeed. How are you faring?"   
  
This question may have surprised Ecthelhador a little; I had never been bold enough to return it before. Perhaps I would not have asked it if I had known that he would launch a counter-attack the very next moment. "I am quite well, thank you for asking. I was wondering...how is it you occupy your days?"  
  
My polite smile vanished; what kind of question was this? It should have been obvious that I currently spent my days sitting in this lovely cell, or pacing around in it as far as that was possible! Surely Ecthelhador could not mean this? "I beg your pardon?"  
  
But obviously, Ecthelhador had not been joking. "What do you do to occupy your days?" he repeated, saying this a bit more loudly and very slowly, as if he suspected that I had not been quite able to follow his first question.  
  
I raised a brow. "Usually? Or just now?"  
  
"Usually," Ecthelhador replied, looking as if he planned to tell me that I would not get any breakfast if I did not answer his query.  
  
I finally believed to have a clue just why he was asking precisely this question. If 'usually' meant my usual life in freedom, a description of what I did on any given day would almost certainly lead to a confession of repeated crimes, petty crimes, at that, but crimes nonetheless. Was that what they wanted? Perhaps they regretted their generous promise of letting me stay in their woods and were searching for reasons to break it....  
  
I decided to be very careful. "It depends on the day, Master Ecthelhador."  
  
My cautious answer made the captain laugh a little. "I did not come here to trap you with your words," he assured me, and for one baffled moment, I wondered whether he had actually asked out of genuine interest. However, my unease returned when he continued: "I came to bring you a present."  
  
He could not mean that in the literal sense; given where we were, 'present' certainly was some sort of euphemism. Nevertheless, I could not entirely exclude the possibility that whatever he intended to bring me really was something more or less nice, be it a further blanket or some sort of addition to the rather frugal meal I could expect.  
  
Therefore, I hesitantly answered: "That is very kind of you." I dared not really hope that it _was_ kind of him indeed; they had probably only decided that it was time to clap me in irons or to put me to some sort of tedious work I could do without leaving the cell.   
  
Ecthelhador was grinning again. "Now, I trust that I shall be able to open your cell without your attempting to flee?"   
  
I could not tell how serious he was. "I have no intention to flee, no."  
  
The captain could barely suppress a chuckle. "Ah! Very good." He proceeded to unlock the door and entered the cell, carrying a rather large basket which he set down as he pulled the door closed just a little. Still grinning widely, he looked at me as if he was expecting some special sort of reaction.

He got nothing but yet another suspicious look. An ostentatiously merry guard was seldom a good sign, and a basket of this size could contain anything. It did not reassure me that it had appeared to be quite heavy when Ecthelhador had carried it into the room; heavy things usually were almost as bad as grinning guard captains.  
  
I had deluded myself into believing that I was ready to face anything that could be hidden under the green embroidered cloth covering the basket, but nothing had prepared me for what I saw when Ecthelhador bent down to pull the cover away with a wide smile.  
  
"Now, these books are from Tanglinna," he merrily said, and I found a pile of obviously very old books placed in my hands. "This one though is from me." A small book with a battered leather cover, looking rather homemade than fabricated in a real scriptorium, was placed atop the others.

I was surprised, almost too surprised to realize that the fact that Mordil was sending me books probably meant that he had finally been freed. When I reached that conclusion, though, it brought a smile to my face, a smile that widened when I looked down at the books I was still holding. They were giving me books, a whole collection of lovely, old books....  
  
I had always been fond of books – these wondrous little things hiding whole worlds of their own between plain or decorated covers – even though a lot of time had passed since I had last owned any, not counting the mediocre Third Age compilation of equally mediocre Second Age Quenyan poetry that had to be somewhere in the pack I had left at Laketown, probably between Gurshak's silken shirt and the soufflé mould. Yes, the latter really was among the not overly numerous belongings stored in my bundle. I was my father's son, after all.  
  
I was as pleased as amazed, not only because books meant a way to shorten the long hours and days that lay ahead yet and not only because I appreciated the kindness and consideration shown by this unexpected gift. Books were not a thing you would ever give to a poor prisoner who seemed to deserve some pity; food, yes, clothing perhaps, necessary things, useful things.... But never a book.  
  
Books meant all that was good in life, culture, beauty, refinement, the opportunity to let eye and mind follow the nicely crafted letters and what they conveyed, the leisure to leave this bleak world to wander on more pleasant paths, thoughts in their purest form, not sullied by the pitiable performance of some dim-witted minstrel who only understood half of what he sang, but there to be found and taken...  
  
For a moment, I felt ridiculously happy, and I hardly remembered my manners in time to stop smiling at the books in order to thank Ecthelhador. "Thank you!"

This hardly expressed all I felt and would have liked to say, but the guard captain would certainly have been somewhat upset if he had been subjected to an incoherent, merry babble on this subject; so I merely continued: "Please tell Tanglinna that I thank him as well... I am... most grateful."  
  
"I will tell him," Ecthelhador promised, turning to his basket yet again and taking out another item. "Now then, this is from me as well."  
  
I put down the books on the cell's narrow bench just in time to take a box containing flint, tinder and a few candles from his hands.   
  
"It can be rather dark down here" – this was very true! - "so...." The captain was grinning again. "This" – a bottle of wine was placed in my free hand - "is from the great lady Laureahiril. You saw her when you duelled with Tanglinna. She is the only one, I would think, that would dare send a prisoner a bottle of wine and get away with it!"  
  
He snorted with laughter, but, although my first thought merely was that remembering the information that Laureahiril was 'the only one' who would get away with such a thing might be important, I soon realized that what he had said was probably very true – this was not ordinary wine, but the expensive variety from the west, known as 'Quenyan wine' among elves because of that; I will not tell you what the orcs call it, for, yes, they know and enjoy it as well.  
  
For a moment, I wondered if this was, perhaps, a pleasant dream, but this was unlikely; Ecthelhador had never made it into one of my good dreams so far, so why should he change his habits now?  
  
Therefore, I only replied: "Tell Lady Laureahiril that I am most grateful for her generosity."  
  
I did hope that the captain would not forget to give the lady my thanks; if she was as he had described her, I could hardly find any better ally, so it was best to be as friendly and polite as possible, not even to mention that I was genuinely grateful for her amazing generosity. I was a stranger to her, and all she knew about me was that I was a thief – what could have moved her to be so very kind? But then, I should not have been overly surprised any more; if even Ecthelhador was bringing me presents, anything was possible, even if I could not quite explain the reasons to myself.  
  
The captain was reaching into the basket yet again, this time to draw out a loaf of bread wrapped in cloth, followed by apples, cheese and pastries, as if someone was intent upon provisioning me for days.  
  
"Now you may thank Galion for these...." he explained. "Well, Tanglinna said to send you food, but he did not know what sort of food you preferred, but Galion said he would find something good to send to you. As if there is something wrong with the fare you prisoners get!" He gave a derisive snort, but his eyes were sparkling a bit.  
  
I fear all I managed to come up with aside from telling him to thank Galion – had I heard that name before? – as well was a highly confused look. Whatever the shortcomings of my current situation, I had not been in any danger of starving; these things were nothing I direly needed, but sheer luxury, something to enjoy... This was not happening, was it?  
  
Admittedly, the fact that people were so overly concerned for my well-being and that all this indulgence was permitted by a guard, would not have seemed quite so astonishing to me in another place and time. Such a thing might have happened in Nargothrond, if I had managed to get myself imprisoned for a handful of days because of some silly quarrel with one of the captains or a noble lord thinking that he knew more than I did, but not here, and not now.  
  
Ecthelhador was not finished yet; he took a jar of hot tea and a cup from the amazing basket, explaining: "This is from me. I know it does get chilly down here and I find that hot tea is just the thing to warm you a bit. Now, this last thing...well, it is from the king."  
  
By then, I was quite certain that I was losing my wits indeed. Merciful Valar! A dungeon guard bringing me hot tea? And now, even the king came into this, as it seemed. "Yes?" I weakly asked.  
  
Ecthelhador's grin had vanished; with a frown, he took a large, old book from the basket. It appeared to be a strange book; the covers of embossed leather were decorated, showing lovely trees and vines, but these rich covers seemed to hold an odd collection of very different parchments and papers, and when the captain opened it and turned a few pages, I could see that it had not even been written by one scribe; there were many different handwritings, not all of them appearing as if whoever had held the quill was involved with writing professionally.  
  
"Well...this is...well .... It is a ...history book...sort of. All about Greenwood, what is now called Mirkwood," Ecthelhador began, not sounding very convinced of the qualities of this wondrous book, but rather like a teacher delivering a boring lecture, knowing very well that it would not please his student. "The king said you should learn all you can about Greenwood and its people and well, this is the book. You have the history of the Wood-elves in here, and you have the story of Oropher coming here and becoming the king - he wrote some of it himself. Thranduil has written some as well. And well....He wants you to read it."  
  
Apparently, the good captain was not an avid reader at all; he looked as if he would have found such a task somewhat tedious, so he probably did not understand at all why a slow grin came to my face now. "Tell His Majesty that I am most grateful for this... great honour," I said, and grateful I was indeed, not so much for the chance to learn some facts about the history of Mirkwood, but for the opportunity the king offered me inadvertently. What better means to learn about the inhabitants of this forest than things they had written without being aware that those pages might not be read for their actual content, but to study the different authors? I was sure there was much to be found in this book. Besides, I hoped I would be able to spot some little mistakes in the king's contribution; it would be very satisfying to know that his writing was flawed in style or content.... But it remained to be seen if it was.  
  
Ecthelhador looked dubious. "I am not sure if reading all that is an honour, but...." He did not finish the sentence, but studied me as if he wished to see if I had been ironic; when he found no signs of that, he bent to tuck the basket into a corner. "Put the empty things in there when you are done and I will fetch them later."  
  
With this, he turned to go, but stopped before he had even reached the door. "Oh yes. I nearly forgot. Here." He took a small bird carving from a pocket of his tunic and handed it to me. "Bronaduion thought you might like some company. He thought you would be lonely and well, he said he is sorry it cannot sing to you, but...."  
  
If I had ever been told who Bronaduion was, I did not remember, but whoever he was, he had found a way to touch my heart. The carving itself reminded me of those Alagant did, even though it was more skilfully done than what my little son could accomplish yet, and it was a bird. A bird... Hardly anybody could know what a bird in a prison cell would mean to me, and certainly no one in Mirkwood, but this little thing, so very lifelike and detailed, brought back memories of a day in Mithlond, one of the few better days there, when a little bird had found its way to my window, reminding me that there was still an outward world inhabited by goodly creatures and bringing some small measure of new hope.  
  
Becoming aware that I had lost myself in thought, I hastily said: "That is very kind of him.... Please express my gratitude to him as well." Kind it was indeed.... Why were all these strangers being so very kind? And why Ecthelhador, who did have some reason to be upset with me? I could ask him at least, or not ask him, but show him that I had noticed the discrepancy between what he could have expected to do and what he had done.  
  
"Ecthelhador?"   
  
"Hm?"  
  
I studied the valiant captain for a moment. "These presents are most undeserved - especially those coming from you. I never apologized for... misleading you a little in the first place, when I visited Mordil... Tanglinna, I mean." I bowed my head a little "Please accept my apologies now. I hope I did not cause you too much trouble."  
  
To my surprise, the captain did not merely shrug or tell me that he did not believe a word. He looked touched, very touched, and I found myself wondering what being a gaoler might actually be like.  
  
Admittedly, I had not thought about that in a very long time; usually, I believed I knew what to think of prison guards and was too busy avoiding their wrath to pity them much. I did know, however, that Seven had been quite unhappy when he had been a guard in Morgoth's mines, and who said that he was the only one?  
  
Perhaps Ecthelhador with his funny ballad and his fine singing voice would have preferred the bright, happy life of a courtly minstrel to spending every day in such a cheerless place, forced to deal with troublesome elves such as myself and having to face their fear and hatred. I wondered if the king also made him wield a branding iron or an axe or sword if it was necessary. In any case, his task was not a rewarding one; he was probably glad if someone chose to be kind instead of detesting him for doing his duty.  
  
The moment passed, and Ecthelhador chuckled and shook his head. "That is very kind of you," he said. "Those dwarves never apologized for escaping from me. Funny thing about dwarves...first they are our prisoners - here for 'a hundred years' unless they told the king the truth, then next thing I know we are marching to war against them...Then lo and behold! We are fighting with them against a common foe like we were best friends." He shrugged a bit. "Life can be strange now and then." With a smile at me – not a forced one, but an open, friendly smile – he moved to the door.  
  
I smiled back, replying: "Life is strange indeed."  
  
Ecthelhador pulled the door closed behind himself. "Have a very fine day, Master Alagaith." As he relocked the cell, he began humming, and when he went away, he was already singing again.  
  
I smiled a bit at that before I started wondering when someone had last called me 'Master Alagaith' without sounding mildly ironic – and if any guard captain had ever used my given name. It was a very fine day indeed.  
  
It took some minutes to arrange everything to my liking, but finally, I was sipping warm tea quite contentedly, an apple in my hand and the History of Greenwood on my knees.  
  
The first chapter, appropriately entitled _'The History of the Wood-Elves from their origins to the Arrival of Oropher'_, was an accurate, if dry description, sometimes lightened by an unexpected bit of wry humour. It did not surprise me to discover that Arasceleg, the captain who had been involved with my arrest on the battlefield, was the author of this part.  
  
It ended with the – doubtlessly somewhat glorified – arrival of Oropher and his Sindarin followers in Greenwood. Arasceleg was meticulous; he had included a list of every more or less important elf who had come to the forest with the king. Near the very end, looking like a later addition, the name _'Tanglinna'_ was squeezed in, and precisely here, Arasceleg had written something next to the text. Some kind soul had scraped off the uppermost layer of parchment in this place, probably deeming what had been written there inappropriate for the official collection of the history of Greenwood the Great, but if held close enough to the light, the remark that had once been scribbled in the margin was still faintly visible: _'Content now, pup? I did mention you!'  
  
_Having chuckled a bit at this remark, thinking that Mordil had obviously always been the peacock he was, I turned the page and – was stunned. The Silver Peacock had every right to be somewhat vain – he did not only excel at painting caricatures on cell walls, but also in doing lovely illuminations.  
  
There could not be any doubt that his hand had drawn and coloured the picture I was studying now; his style was quite unmistakeable. The scene represented in the drawing seemed to be what Arasceleg had described before, Oropher's arrival among the wood-elves.  
  
Behind the flamboyant figure that had to be the king, there was, someone looking like a young Thranduil, wearing a travelling hat decorated with gems, and, immediately next to them, not surprisingly, someone with a bow and a silver braid.  
  
I believed to recognize some other faces; among the wood-elves emerging from the trees, which seemed so very lifelike that I believed to hear the rustle of leaves and the song of the little woodland birds, there was Arasceleg, while one the other side, among Oropher's courtly retinue, an almost caricaturesque Laureahiril had raised a hand in a gesture of astonishment, almost shock, and was gazing at the sky as if to supplicate Manwe to send her strength and patience.  
  
That probably depicted her feelings, if perhaps not her exact outward reaction, at meeting _'those poor, illiterate Silvans'_ – her words, not mine, faithfully quoted from her part of the book that I discovered around noon that day – quite correctly.  
  
This was not the only illustration I came across, and it was quite amusing and endearing to follow the little silver archer that appeared in each and every picture, smiling, looking very good, noble and entirely too innocent, frowning the slightest bit or – in the illumination accompanying the chapter on the battle of Dagorlad – with an expression that could have scared me had I not known Mordil a bit better than to be dismayed by this truly murderous sneer.   
  
Nevertheless, I preferred other representation of him, as a warrior among others on a patrol, as one of the king's hunting companions, as an archery instructor supervising a horde of mischievous-looking elflings or as a courtier in floating robes attending a feast.  
  
Oddly enough, though, the Dagorlad picture was the only one that allowed the slightest glimpse behind the façade of my friend's official life that was told indirectly in the images, while his contributions to the text contained mainly battle descriptions, very knowledgeable, detailed and adroit, but not revealing much else about their writer. No, he had not told his part of the story in words, but with brushstrokes. I would have to tell him discreetly to stop drawing orcs that looked like wicked beasts, though; they were a bit out of place in his otherwise realistic pictures.  
  
The time passed quickly, and by mid-afternoon, the jar of tea was empty, and two apples had disappeared; also, I had made my way through '_The Campaigns of Oropher'_ – there was some grim irony in the fact that this chapter had been begun by the old king, but finished by his son – and accounts of the _'Building of the Kingdom'_ and _'Diplomatic acts'_, as well as through more bizarre sidelines of Mirkwood's history, like _'Debate between an Elf-Lord and a Dwarf Captain'_ and _'Laws and Customs of the Goblins and other Fell Creatures'_. This last chapter immediately became my favourite; it was the most hilarious thing I had read in a very long time, and I only regretted that Seven was not present to share my mirth. I would have to tell him that his lack of success with the fairer sex was probably due to the fact that he had never brought his adored one three elf-heads on a pike as a sign of affection.  
  
I had just started the chapter on _'Famous Law Cases'_, glad that my name would probably never appear in it now, when Ecthelhador's voice broke my concentration: "Did you not like it?"

I had hardly heard him approach the cell, but there he was, in front of the window, pointing at all the fine food that had remained untouched until now.

"Oh... I have been reading," I replied. "I will eat more in a minute – but you can already tell Galion that the apples are very good."

Ecthelhador frowned a little, apparently realizing just _what_ I had been reading; then, he opened the door quite swiftly for his standards, walked over to me, took the _'History of Greenwood'_ from my hands and closed it firmly.  
  
I must have been staring at him with the shocked and offended expression of a child whose favourite plaything has been taken away for no good reason, but the captain obviously misunderstood what was behind my dismay.  
  
"Do not worry," he said, lowering his voice to a whisper and grinning a little, "nobody will rip off your head if you do not read each and every page of this pompous collection of half-true, self-flattering tripe."

Without waiting for a reply, he bent to pick up one of the other books. "If you really want to learn something about Greenwood – Mirkwood, that is! – read this. And do eat something – it will be evening soon. If we waste all those good things on you, do not let them rot, at least."

Having instructed me so, he chose what looked like a walnut pastry and held it out to me as if he had to coax a reluctant elfling into eating anything at all. "There! These are very good! I wonder why you did not try them earlier!"

"I was reading...." I repeated rather helplessly, not daring to explain that I had become so engrossed in the book because I had actually been enjoying it. "I did not mean to be ungrateful."

Ecthelhador shook his head in mild exasperation, gave me one last long look that strongly suggested I had better take his sage advice to heart and left the cell again.  
  
When he was gone, I had the good sense to open the small and obviously homemade book he had handed me. The first page proudly announced that this was a collection of _Thoughts on the Warfare in Mirkwood, formerly known as Greenwood the Great_ by one Ecthelhador Vinyalaithion. Of course, this did decide which book I would have to read and finish first, so I dutifully started it while eating the pastry the good captain had handed me. I told him later that it had tasted wonderful, but to tell the truth – I did not know even then how it had tasted, and I do not remember now. After all, I was reading once again.  
  
In the following days, I made my way through the _'Warfare'_ – much to the delight of its proud author who enjoyed answering the questions I asked him about his great work in extensive detail and had apparently decided that he liked this admirer of his writing skills well enough to bring him tea regularly – and through the rest of the _'History'_ that contained such jewels as _'Of the Common Mirkwood Spider and of the Black Squirrel, comprising seven recipes for an antidote against the venom of the former and suggestions for a prayer apt to keep away the latter'_ and _'The Campaign against the Goblins of Northern Mirkwood as seen by a Humble Swordsman'_, this rare example of lovely elven literature mostly consisting of Master Vardamar's complaints about the ineptitude of captains, archers, healers and inferior swordsmen.  
  
Finally, I found some time for Mordil's books. All of them were very old and written in Quenya. At first, this surprised me, especially as there were such uncommon works as an _'Allegorization of the Sword'_ among them, but then, I remembered his Noldorin lady-wife, and I felt touched that he would so readily let me use books that appeared to have belonged to her.  
  
Reading, contemplating Master Bronaduion's bird, and sipping tea might have occupied my time agreeably enough already, but obviously Ecthelhador had come to the conclusion that more was necessary to fill either his or my days.

He would linger in front of the door for long minutes when he had brought me something, not quite admitting that he wanted to talk, but finding skilful ways of starting a conversation anyway.  
  
Perhaps I should not have allowed our strange relationship to drift towards tentative friendship in this manner. Instead, I should have reminded myself that Ecthelhador, kind as he might be, was still a guard captain; keeping my distance would have made a dreadful moment weeks later much easier for both of us. But then, had I foreseen what was yet to happen, I would have grasped the first opportunity to flee from the dungeons. However, I was a fool, and for the first time in many years, I allowed myself to be as trusting as an innocent youngling; the presents, the tea and the captain's kindness had convinced me that Mirkwood's inhabitants did not mean me any harm.   
  
The future suddenly seemed kind and bright, and as long as I was deprived of my family's company, I could at least enjoy what I had, the books and the now more frequent conversations with Ecthelhador, especially since the more he talked, the less he sang his silly song.  
  
This would already have been a good thing in itself, but in addition to this, listening to what the captain had to say proved to be very useful. The dozens of little remarks and explanations Ecthelhador wove into simple chats told me just as much about Mirkwood as the _'History of Greenwood'_ had done, merely in another way.  
  
Step by step, a first rough map of family ties, hierarchies, friendship and rivalry began to form in my head, and I felt grateful that I would not be released into fully uncharted territory one day; things would still be difficult, that much was certain, but knowing some details in advance could not be wrong.  
  
In any case, the time when all of this would become relevant still seemed far away, and day after day passed, a uniform member of one long chain that would not break yet; I could only cradle my teacup, admire the stone walls and wait.

----

By the time Mordil was finally allowed to visit me, life had settled into a sluggish, slightly maddening routine again after the merry excitement of the books and other presents. Thus, I did not only welcome his visit as what it was, but also as an interruption of the long row of days that were too alike to be enjoyable.  
  
One evening, the steps of the ever-humming Ecthelhador – even if his singing had grown less frequent, he seemed unable to give up his lovely melody, and so, it was quickly turning into a song without words – were accompanied by those of someone else, and well before they got anywhere near my cell, I had risen to my feet, quite excited by this change of what I had gotten too used to and daring to hope that the visitor might bring good news.  
  
As always, Ecthelhador, who stopped in front of the door now, hiding the second elf from my view, took his time, searching for his ring of keys at some length and twirling them around his finger before the long and tedious process of opening the locks finally began. "Good evening, Master Alagaith!" he said cheerfully enough when the door swung open. "You have a visitor."  
  
This statement was a bit superfluous; I had already recognized the 'visitor', and his arrival brought a happy smile to my face. Seeing a familiar face was good, but seeing a friend was even better.

"Good evening, Master Tanglinna." I greeted him, inclining my head somewhat mockingly, but knowing better than to 'mordil' him in Ecthelhador's hearing.  
  
My gesture was returned in equally ironic manner. "Good evening, Master Alagaith."   
  
Ecthelhador shook his head at us with a sigh. "Very polite this fine evening, aren't we. I will be back shortly." With this promise – or threat? – he turned and left, locking the door behind him. I did not know if he really thought this measure necessary or if he found the thought of seeing both of us behind bars, not only at the same time, but also in the same cell, somewhat amusing.  
  
Tanglinna appeared a bit wary, but he did not voice any word of protest. "How are you, Linlote?" he asked, sounding as if this was more than the customary question opening so many conversations, but not a query demanding a detailed answer, either; it rather seemed to be his way of stating that he was pleased to see me.  
  
I smiled a bit, glad both about his visit and about the notion that the strange bond of friendship we had formed still felt intact; it was a good sign that we could talk as if we had just interrupted a conversation the other day, without awkward silences or a long time of cautiously getting reacquainted. "Quite fine, Mordil; thank you for the books.... And I assume I have to thank you for the rest of the presents as well." I did suspect that, without Tanglinna's interest and suggestions, there would not have been any gifts at all.  
  
"I am glad that you like them. I know Celair would be very pleased to know that someone who appreciates them has them," Tanglinna replied with a little smile. "I wish I could take credit for all of the things sent to you, but you have certainly captured a great deal of attention." He smiled again, this time with bemusement. "I, um, I have spoken with the king this morning."  
  
He sounded hesitant, almost embarrassed, and I tensed, aware that the way he began to speak about this meeting with the king did not bode well at all. Perhaps Thranduil had regretted having granted me too much in the whim of a moment and wished to throw me out discreetly through his wondrous Hall's backdoor now, or worse...."About me, I assume?"  
  
I had hardly been aware that my left hand had moved to clutch my right wrist, covering the brand, before Tanglinna gently extricated it from my own grip, his thumb moving over the brand mark as it had done once before, an almost familiar touch by now, meant to calm.

"It is about you, yes, but that" – a movement of his head indicated my hand – "has not changed. I have come to give you the...the 'rule' that you will have to follow when you are released. That is all."  
He smiled kindly and reassuringly as he released my hand, and I could not help feeling a little like an elfling soothed by sweet words and comforting gestures – an elfling that has to be soothed to ensure that he will behave, scared as he may be.  
  
Therefore, I remained a bit guarded, touching as I found his kindness. "What kind of 'rule'?" It did not sound good, but maybe, I was mistaken and it did not mean much at all. Of course, they would expect me to be at my best behaviour, and I was ready to comply best as I could....

Vain hopes, harmless as Mordil's next words may have been! "The king has decided that when you are freed, you will...um, you will be coming to live with me for a while." He watched my reaction a bit too closely then, almost as if he was hoping that I would be glad enough about this good beginning to swallow whatever else he had to tell me – and there was something that he had not mentioned yet.  
  
"I am sorry you will be burdened with me", I replied, grinning a little, as I was not quite that sorry about this development. "But there is more to it?"  
  
Tanglinna was grinning as well now. "I will not be burdened with you, Linlote. But," – his grin turned into something strange and strained as he spoke - "you will be burdened with me."  
  
It could have been a mere jest, a twisting and turning of my words, had it not been for this unhappy, suspicious smile. "What do you mean by that?"  
  
Tanglinna gazed at the floor and sighed. "I am afraid that you will have to spend all your time with me...until Thranduil...until he decides that you can be fully trusted." He looked up again, slowly, as if he did not wish to see the look of outrage and shock that he knew he would find. "I am sorry, Linlote. I know you wanted me to say that you would have your complete freedom when you are freed, but...that won't happen...not yet."  
  
'_That won't happen._' The next words, _'not yet'_, could have made the statement less cruel and final, but I hardly noticed them. It would not happen. I should have known before, and I should have been grateful that nothing worse than a probably lenient watchdog was in store for me, but... it would not happen.  
  
I somehow managed to force a seemingly light-hearted smile. "Very well, I daresay we are used to that already. Just take care not to lead me towards too many goblin lairs." To tell the truth, I would not have minded a goblin lair quite that much at the moment. I knew how to get out of goblin lairs. I did not know how to get out of this trap I had built for myself, assisted by a certain good and merciful king who was only too happy to oblige me and give me what I was asking for – the right to stay, and nothing more than that.  
  
Tanglinna smiled at my silly attempt to take this blow bravely. "I won't," he promised, but then, his expression grew sad, and I knew he understood without having to be told what was wrong, and why it was wrong. "I am sorry, Linlote. This is not the way I would have it."  
  
"I know this is not your fault," I assured him, adding after a moment: "I am both glad and sorry they chose you to... do this."  
  
This was not a lie, but it would have taken more than emphasizing the bearable sights to fool Tanglinna. "You have put up with a lot from us, Linlote. I fear we are not making a very good impression on you."  
  
At this, I could grin with genuine amusement. "And vice versa, it would seem, Mordil."

"I do not know what you mean," Tanglinna lightly replied, grinning back. "You have been an ideal prisoner...or so Ecthelhador told Galion.... I will try to make your life as bearable as I can while you are with me. I must say," – he did have the grace to look a bit guilty! - "that I am looking forward to having you in my house. I think I might like that."  
  
Under different circumstances, I might have felt flattered by his compliment and might have returned it, but as things were, I was not in the mood for such an exchange, but merely answered: "I will try not to be too much of a nuisance." It was then that I realized, almost with a jolt, that something important, the most important thing, in fact, had not been mentioned yet.  
  
"What about Alagant?" I softly continued. "Will he be allowed to stay with me... with us?" I dreaded the answer. If those wood-elves thought that they could not trust me at all, would they trust me at least to care for my son? If they decided that my child deserved better than to be brought up by some unreliable scoundrel, if they did not allow him to join me here or, worse, took him from me entirely... I did not think the thought to its end; it is never pleasant to admit to yourself that there is anything in Arda that could turn you into the perpetrator of a giant kinslaying.  
  
But Mordil's smile was open and sincere this time; he obviously believed what he was saying. "Alagant will live there as well. My house is a bit small, but I hope that you will be happy there...until you have your own. Thranduil may seem...unfair at times, but I assure you he has reasons for everything he does. This seems very cruel of him, but.... Linlote, I want you to be happy here. I just want you to be brave and amenable for as long as this period of...of time lasts. It will pass! Then you and Alagant will have your own house. I think you might like having your very own house. But," – again, he grinned a little – "as I said, you have attracted a great deal of attention, so expect...visitors from time to time. Everyone will want to gawk at you." Laughing a bit, he finished: "It is not every day that we have a reformed Noldorin thief move into Mirkwood."  
  
I refrained from answering that, conditions being as they were, most reformed Noldorin thieves were probably too wise to go anywhere near this peculiar place, although the words were on the tip of my tongue already. Instead, I shrugged and replied: "Well... I suspect I deserve this."

Oh yes, I did – not for my terrible, oh-so-unforgivable crimes, but for being the greatest fool I knew of. Had I really believed that it would be any easier? "Never fear, Mordil," I went on. "I will not try to run away, and I will not throw anything at your king. That I promise."  
  
Tanglinna chuckled a little. "You may throw something at him...just not when he is looking." His grin widened, and there was an invitation in those silver eyes to return it, to forget my disappointment and to share his hope that things would eventually be better.  
  
Seeing that I was not quite convinced, he decided to try out another strategy. "Oh, yes." A pear suddenly appeared from under his tunic and was tossed into my hands. "Galion said to give you this. It is one of the last ones stored from last year. He said you might be getting tired of the apples he has sent."  
  
"Thank you," I said, contemplating the pear that looked tasty enough, and telling myself that he was probably right to remind me that not all about this new life was misery.

Alone again, I stood unmoving for some time, trying to come to terms with what I had just been told, but unable to fend off the thought that it would be as Seven had foreseen, or even worse, not only servitude, but actually extended imprisonment, no hint of freedom, no privacy for months or years to come.  
  
I tried to console myself with the thought that Tanglinna and I would get along; I had to be glad that they would allow Tanglinna, my friend, to guard me instead of appointing some random grim wood-elf, who would not even have tried to show the slightest bit of understanding, to this undesirable post. Yet, even light and invisible bonds remained bonds.  
  
What was hardest to bear, however – and realizing it almost made me laugh in helpless despair – was the knowledge that I would not be given any real chance for quite some time, if at all. If my every step was watched and guarded, they could only observe if I was being meek and docile, willing to make an effort; they would not be able to tell if they could actually trust me.  
  
If they had really wanted to learn if I had changed, if I was worthy to become one of them, it might have been wiser to offer me my freedom and keep me under discreet supervision from then on, but who was I to question the decision of the good and wise king?  
  
I was nothing, and they would not let me be anything, not for many years. So much for their initial kindness! It had been a passing interest, a gesture apt to demonstrate publicly how merciful and good they were, nothing more.   
  
Perhaps I should have been glad that they were giving me a guard; if every moment I spent in their woods was meticulously accounted for, they would at least be unable to blame me whenever anything precious vanished. But I was not glad; all I felt was disappointment.  
  
_'Did I not tell you that you would wake up one day, poor fool?'_ Seven's voice seemed to ask in my head, not with derision, but with the great compassion he would find in his gentle heart even if the trouble I was in had been caused by me, and me alone. _'But you would not listen.'_  
  
And, silently, I vowed to ask for his forgiveness when I saw him again... if I saw him again; how could I know if he was still in Laketown, ready to wait patiently for his deluded elven friend?  
  
----

It was the sound of life and industry that reached my ears as I topped a rise that overlooked the ruins of Esgaroth. Yet amidst the wrack and ruin that Smaug had dealt to what had once been a thriving town, a crossroad for many peoples, were signs of rebirth. Esgaroth was being rebuilt farther north up the shore, and even now I could see that the new town would be much larger and more wondrous than the old village had been. Long had Esgaroth, or Laketown as the men that inhabited it named it, lain beneath the dragon shadow and felt the wrath of his breath, but now that Smaug had gone to his final resting place beneath the lake, his carefully guarded hoard of treasure would be used to help rebuild what he had destroyed. Friendships, however unlikely, had been formed and the wealth was shared with those that needed it most. This was as it should be.

From where I stood, I could tell that Esgaroth would once more become a trade center, importing things from the south and from the mysterious east, sending dwarven wares as well as their own into the world beyond. This was an important town to those of us who lived west of the Misty Mountains, and my heart swelled with gladness at the sight of it coming to slow life once more - the sound of voices calling to one another, of hammers ringing, of saws hewing down the trees that were needed to bring Esgaroth back to us. While I mourned the loss of the voices of those trees, they were giving more in their death than they could know, or perhaps they rejoiced to know that they were sacrificed that others could live, and not die of old age or disease that sometimes plagued our leafy friends.

I walked slowly toward the activity, reveling in the sights and sounds about me. It was not until I was standing in what one day would be a street, that I realized I did not know where Linlote's family was lodging. There was a hodge-podge of huts constructed by those working here, and all the faces I saw passing me were unfamiliar, mostly men, but a few dwarves were mixed in and in the distance I saw some Wood-elves, inhabitants that dwelt in the edges of our forest, closer to Esgaroth than to Gladaran Thamas. They were with those who were cutting down the trees, no doubt speaking to the great towering giants of what was required of them, singing to them the last songs they would hear.

I must have looked a bit lost for a pleasant, kind voice sounded behind me.

"May I help you? You need directions maybe?"

I felt relieved at the flow of perfect Sindarin, not marred by accents or the slight hesitance that marked someone that was not a native speaker of our fluid language. With a smile I turned, ready to speak to my fellow elf, a generous one that had moved here to help with the reconstruction. To my great dismay, and utter distress, it was no elf that stood before me on the trampled, somewhat muddied road. Though his features were all solicitude, I could not suppress the shock that I felt. It was no elf indeed, nor yet a man or dwarf, nor one of the Periannath. Seeing one of those odd, little Western folk here would have surprised me less than the one that stood before me.

It took all my self- control to not reach for my dagger, sheathed handily at my waist. The Valar knew that _Don Gwaedh_ had tasted enough orc blood, but something stayed my hand, made me act against instinct and years of distrust and hatred, not to mention training and desire.

For it was an orc that stood before me, a slight smile curving his lips. I stood mute, unsure of how to proceed, and I found myself noticing that this orc, standing in the middle of what would be Esgaroth, was dressed not in the crude garments one usually associated with the minions of Gorthaur the Cruel. Granted, I should probably have remembered that Gurshak and his companions had been dressed in what one would not term as orc clothing, but this orc! This orc was dressed in - by the Valar! - he was dressed in Elvish clothing!

There was delicate, skilful embroidery at the neck and hem of his tunic, a repeated design of a twining green vine and delicate golden blossoms with red centers, which showed, on closer inspection, to be small beads. Tiny birds, butterflies, and dragonflies were nestled in the vines; eyes small dark beads that glittered making them look very much alive. This was obviously the work of someone very skilled with a needle and colored thread. Someone who did not have clumsy, uneducated orc fingers!

Needless to say, my eyes traveled from his embroidery to his fingers, as I managed to find my voice.

"Ah, yes. I am looking for an elf named Alagaer...or...an orc...."

Slowly, it dawned on me as I took in the orc's fingers. They told me all I needed to know.

"Named Sharhur," I finished, knowing that I had found him, or he had found me. "Though...you may know him as Seven," I said, wondering how best to proceed now. I had not made any plans for our meeting to begin thus and was ill-prepared to know what to say or do. One does not just encounter someone that would have been considered a dire enemy in any other situation, and expect to exchange pleasantries as if it were an every day occurrence.

He obviously took pity on this poor, stricken elf for he smiled a bit and said, "If you are looking for an orc called Sharhur or Seven, you have found him."

Well, yes. Obviously. Doubtless, it was my rather blank expression that belied the fact that I knew this already.

"You would not happen to be Tanglinna of the Wood-elves?" he continued, no doubt thinking that I had left what few wits I had behind in the forest somewhere, buried in the leaf mould. The fact that he knew who I was, was a bit disconcerting, but Linlote had probably told them all about me. Rather a distressing thought really....

_No!_ I reprimanded myself sharply. _Do not call Alagaith 'Linlote'!_

I did not think that Alagaith's family would appreciate me - or anyone else for that matter – calling him a 'skulking cutpurse'. I would have to guard my often-wayward tongue to avoid letting that slip out!

"Yes, I am Tanglinna," I answered, pressing my hand to my heart and inclining my head in greeting, trying not to appear as flustered as I felt. I hoped that Alagaith would appreciate how very difficult it was for me to be civil to an orc! "And you are Seven?" Ridiculous question! "I...I ...I am pleased to meet you." That was a slight falsehood on my part, I fear, but a necessary part of this dance we had to engage in. I had never had a conversation of any sort with an orc, except for exchanged curses or questioning one another's paternity over crossed swords. "I...I have come to tell you that Alagaith will be released very shortly and I wanted to fetch his son, Alagant and take him to be there when Alagaith is freed."

Not the most eloquent speech I have ever been forced to make perhaps, but maybe it would be sufficient. It was truthful at least.

I kept telling myself that this was Alagaith's closest, truest friend... and yet he was an orc: an orc, the antithesis of we elves, the fallen race, the wretched beings that needed release from this life and their horrid existence.... All the things I had been told and believed my entire life rose up in protest, all my own experiences with these fell beings of the Enemy lent credence to what I felt about them.

As if sensing my unease, the orc named Seven frowned at me.

"If you are Tanglinna," he began in a tone that left no doubt at all that my identity might still be suspect, "I have to thank you, in the name of the whole family."

He made it infinitely clear that he was not thanking me sincerely, but rather sarcastically, making me feel even worse than I had before. I suppressed a sigh for his statement clearly meant that he, an orc was family to Linlote, while I was merely an interloper, someone who had caused them all a lot of trouble and chaos. And therein he spoke, perhaps unknowingly about all my fears in coming here.

I had known this would be no easy task; I knew how close-knit Linlote was with his family, and how they must certainly feel about this strange wood-elf, who had come out of nowhere and was no one and led poor deluded Linlote on a merry chase into Mirkwood and then into a cell. I knew the arguments that they might give for Linlote's desire to be honest and needing to do it in Mirkwood. Why not here in Esgaroth where there was honest work aplenty, and would be for many years? Years would pass that would erase the stain of thievery in the minds of the people that lived here, and Linlote and his family would be accepted as citizens of this thriving, bustling town. More importantly, they could all live here together. They could not do this in Mirkwood. Seven would never be accepted, his birth race was against him.

"We are most grateful for what you did," he continued in steady tones. "As for Alagant, that is not my decision to make – you will have to speak with his grandfather."

Ah, yes. Speaking with Linlote's adar. No, Alagaith's adar. Just what I wanted most in the world, confronting an old, no doubt very unhappy Noldo that had no reason at all to like me or what had transpired since my meeting his son on the slopes of Erebor. What a glorious conversation that promised to be!

Let no one say though, that I cringe away from unpleasant duties. I straightened, meeting those dark, ironic orc eyes, my own face inscrutable, chin lifted. Perhaps Linlote had named me true by calling me Mordil. He came in quite handily at times.

"I would be most grateful to you if you could take me to Alagaith's adar then. Thank you for your help."

We regarded one another coolly for some moments, and for some odd reason I found myself thinking of the old, somewhat unbelievable tale that orcs had once been mistaken for wild Avari....

Hmph! As if orcs could ever be mistaken for any sort of elf! Yet, as I studied him, I began to see some similarities in this dark-skinned being, and when he finally turned away, gesturing vaguely for me to follow.... By the Valar! His black hair was pulled back into a neat single braid, which swung jauntily as he walked away.

I pursed my lips, scowling. I almost wished he would turn and see how displeased I was. How dare he wear his hair in a single braid as I did! Mine was a simple archer's braid, worn to keep one's hair from becoming entangled in the bowstring. Of course, some of the younglings wore their hair pulled into the proud warriors' braids, leaving it hanging free but for the three braids that signified their rank among us.

There were no similarities between orcs and elves, I told myself sternly! None whatsoever regardless of what Linlote might think. He had probably been hit in the head too many times during his rather hard life. Undoubtedly, Alagaith had taught Seven to braid his hair as orcs would not possess that skill or even the desire to ornament their long tresses in this way. No, Alagaith had merely tamed this creature to an almost civilized level. Yet, Seven had offered me assistance, smiling kindly as he had done so....

Makeshift huts lined what would one day be a proper street in a bustling city, but now they were merely muddy thoroughfares, ice riming the puddles, fitful snow falling to cover the debris of life in a large settlement. The smell of wood smoke drifted on the cold air, and the smell of food cooking. There was an air of excitement, of anticipation about the place that was invigorating in its own way. I smiled. It would be good to see Esgaroth live again.

Seven had stopped in front of an unassuming hut, looking as most of the huts did regardless of who the inhabitants were. The doorway to this one was swept clean of dirt and snow, looking very tidy and neat. Seven glanced back at me, no doubt wishing I had fled instead of followed, then he opened the door, the scent of food growing stronger, indicating that someone was inside cooking something. Linlote's orc spoke a few words in...Orcish, of course, which made me frown. He said them so quickly- no doubt he did not think he spoke them rapidly, but I did - that I could not make them out before he beckoned me forward.

I stood in the doorway of the hut – I had not exactly been invited in unless whatever it was Seven had said had been the invitation to do so, and I doubted this. I stared at the two elves that were staring back at me.

The elder of the two was obviously Alagaith's adar, as he looked exactly as Alagaith should if he were centuries older. The dark hair was reminiscent of the way Alagaith had braided his hair in Gurshak's lair – Noldorin braids no doubt. The eyes were the same grey, but filled not with Alagaith's wry, sometimes strange sense of humor, but cold and resentful.... The child was obviously little Alagant, his ada's pride and joy. I recalled that Linlote had said that Alagant had his mother's soft curls, and this was true for brown curls tumbled about his little face. My friend was fortunate to have such a wonderful reminder of his lady-wife.

A wistful smile touched my lips as I studied the elfling. He was a sweet thing, one could see that by looking into his eyes, yet in those same eyes was something that one does not often see in children – a very adult light was in them. He seemed to be assessing me rather like his daerada was, though with more curiosity and without such obvious animosity.

I glanced at Seven once more, then pressed my hand to my heart, tipping my head in a formal greeting.

"Alagaer?" I inquired, since there had been no introduction – unless what Seven had said had been one, and I doubted this. I was certain that this older Noldo was indeed Linlote's adar, how could he not be? But I had to be certain before I began what I had come to say.

I was also certain that my reception would be less than welcoming and warm, and was not disappointed in this. What must they think of me? I am sure Linlote had told them about our little adventure, but did that really stand me in good stead with them, especially with what had happened afterwards? Probably not.

Alagaer nodded curtly, his face unsmiling.

"Tanglinna, I presume?" he said in clipped tones, making my own impoliteness for not properly introducing myself to him immediately quite clear. Yes...this was going to be...great fun!

I nodded and he motioned for me to enter, telling me to take a seat. I obeyed though I would much rather have remained standing. It is most disconcerting to be seated when everyone else was on their feet, towering malevolently over you. Not to mention rude! One does not leave their guests sitting all alone and just stand there staring and glaring like I was some marauding orc or something.... Well, perhaps thinking about marauding orcs was not a good thing, since an orc was present in the room, more at home and welcome than I was. What fun indeed!

A protective arm went about Alagant's shoulder, leaving me no doubt that this would indeed be very hard. They would not simply hand the child over to a stranger, nor should they. Knowing this did not ease my mind any. The child hugged his dragon protectively, as if sensing that he was the reason for my visit.

"Yes, I am Tanglinna," I said, needing to fill the most uncomfortable silence with something. I gazed up at Alagaer, whose face had not changed at all. If he had me sit just so I would be smaller than he, it was unnecessary. He was taller than I was even if I remained standing. What was he trying to do?! He could not intimidate me so easily! Even as my jaw clenched, I caught myself. It would not do to appear antagonistic. No. I would not let this rude, arrogant Noldo adar trick me into an ill temper!

I decided to turn my attention to the child. Perhaps he would not be quite so judgmental.

"I am Tanglinna," I repeated, addressing Alagant this time. "I am bringing you word about Linlote...I mean Alagaith."

I chided myself most severely for that slip of the tongue! And after I had cautioned myself not to call Alagaith by that nickname! Calling his son a 'skulking cutpurse' would not stand me in good stead with Alagaer...or with anyone here, I reminded myself! I could not believe that I had been so thoughtless already!

Seven had entered behind me and the door suddenly thumped shut. I was trapped... by an orc and a very unhappy Noldo, whose brows rose at my use of the word "Linlote". Amazingly, he did not comment – or strangle me – for my carelessness. He merely said, "That is very kind of you." Nice words, but the cold manner in which he delivered them, made them seem most...insincere. I was in more peril than I could have guessed!

"It must have been a most exhausting journey," Alagaer continued. "May we offer you something?"

He was the perfect host - except for those glacial eyes, which spoke much louder than his words!

They had been cooking something when I had arrived, some sort of stew, and I had heard the kettle singing merrily. I did not want anything...nothing! How many times had I gotten into trouble because I drank something I should not have? Yet it would be rude to refuse, and I fear I had already been deemed rude enough, even if I had not intended to be.

"That would be very nice," I answered. Thank you for your kindness."

Kindness? Ha! An orc guarded the doorway – the only escape from this place except for that one tiny window that little Alagant might have been able to squeeze through – and they were offering me something to drink. How very kind of them indeed. As long as it was not orcish brandy, I might be safe...or orcish tea.

There was a queasy roll in my stomach at the thought of some strange orcish tea. If he offered me tea, I would.... I swallowed, not really knowing what I would do.

_Please,_ I prayed to the Valar. _Not tea - anything but tea!_

But then Alagaer turned back to me, his eyes gleaming, not as they had before, but with some fell delight as he handed me a steaming cup of ... tea.

I stared bleakly at it. It did not smell like the teas I was familiar with; it had an odd spicy scent that was vaguely familiar...and therefore unsettling. It would appear the Valar never really listen to me.

_It is orc tea,_ I thought, wondering how I could avoid drinking it without seeming impolite.

"I hope my son is well."

I looked up at Alagaer, deciding he was much more scary than Riwmegor had ever been. My father-in-law had never really intimidated me quite this much. I had spent too much time being angry with him to be intimidated, but Alagaith's father was another matter altogether! The 'or else' while not spoken was clearly implied.

_Or else what?_ I wondered with another uneasy glance at the steaming tea. Maybe this was the or else....

I never took tea from anyone unless I had known them for 751 years. Well, that is perhaps a slight exaggeration on my part, but I would never again accept tea in the presence of an orc! Not that I had any choice the first time! And it appeared I had no choice now either....

"Thank you," I murmured, as I sniffed the tea again trying to discern what herbs exactly had been put into it, but I could only identify a few and this did not bode well, as more fragrant herbs could easily be used to mask the others that I feared to find.

Not taking a sip, I glanced up at Alagaer once again, hoping that the message I brought might blind them to the fact that I did not drink the tea. Perhaps this message would also make them change their mind about making me drink the tea!

"Alagaith is doing well...in fact, he ...he is about to be released...which is what has brought me here."

My gaze shifted to Alagant then, and I smiled in reassurance, wanting the child at least to know I bore neither them nor Linlote any malice. I only wanted what was best for them. And yet... I remembered all too well the bitterness and disappointment that had filled Linlote's eye when I told him of Thranduil's one little rule, one little stipulation. Perhaps it was not so little.... I had, for a moment, thought that Alagaith would rather have stayed in his cell than to find his honor, his word questioned as it had been by being forced to live with his watchdog. For to him that is what his stay with me meant. He had hoped to begin life free, free from such dogged distrust. He wanted to be treated as everyone else in Mirkwood, and that was the one thing denied him.

But, it was Thranduil's decision to make, and I knew him to be a wise king and did not question. Only....

I found Alagaer's piercing eyes upon me, his mouth a thin, tight line of anger. I sighed slightly, lifting the cup to my lips and praying that it was nothing more than an unusual tea, and I would not .... Well, there was no help for it now.

The taste was unfamiliar...mostly. I swallowed hesitantly, my poor throat very reluctant to let the liquid slide down and inside me.

"It is very good," I murmured at last, my eyes fixing suddenly on the dragon in Alagant's arms, it green, silver, and gold scales and glittering eyes the brightest things in the room. I waited for the dragon to slide slightly out of focus, the colors sharpening to unnatural hues, then swirling together like they were on some mad painter's canvas, for movement where there should be none. I waited for the pounding fear that would follow this, then the hallucinations....

But none of that happened, and I glanced up at Alagant, who was staring at me a bit oddly, no doubt wondering what was wrong with this crazy wood-elf that stared at his dragon so intently. I smiled at him, our eyes meeting, and, amazingly, he smiled back, probably deciding I was admiring his marvelous toy.

My strange behaviour had not gone unnoticed by mine host though.

"It is good," he said in a most sarcastic tone, "to know that he will be released soon, and I am grateful that you came all the way from Mirkwood to tell us this."

His expression grew wary suddenly, and I knew that he was aware that bearing this message was not my only charge.

Indeed, it was not.

I set the cup down, glancing over at Seven, who still stood beside the door, looking on with obvious disapproval. He knew what I had to say, but he made no move to say anything to Alagaer. I suppose he thought I should flounder through this myself, the more painful for me the better.

"That was not the only reason for my visit," I began, swallowing uncomfortably. "You see, I have come to...." My gaze slid to Alagant, who watched me closely with those too adult eyes, undoubtedly sensing the tension that existed, filling the room with expectation. "I have come to take Alagant to his ada," I finished quickly, guiltily. "I know Alagaith will want him to be there."

It was a struggle to keep that guilt off my face; my doubts must not show, not now. I owed Linlote that much.

"He has missed him greatly," I added, hearing all too well the accusations that my simple statements could easily give birth to. Taking the child away from his family, me, a stranger to them, merely a person in a tale that Alagaith had told to them of an adventure under the ground. I would not have surrendered my child to a stranger, so why would they?

Alagaer's face contorted slightly, and I feared that maybe the tea had been poisoned, but then the shocked look vanished. His face grew hard, and his gaze grew even more cold and contemptuous than before.

"I am sure he has missed him," he said tightly, "he has been missed greatly as well."

Undoubtedly he had, and the accusation that this was my fault was all too clear to me - and to everyone else in the room.

"However," Alagaer continued, his gaze never leaving mine, pinning me where I sat as effectively as any sword would, "you must understand that I am not ready to entrust my grandson to a stranger without any sort of legitimization."

He looked quickly back at Seven then, who nodded slightly, his grim expression not changing in the least during the silent exchange; only his eyes gleamed with some satisfaction as they both looked back at me expectantly.

Only Alagant had an excited, hopeful look on his face, pleased at the prospect of being reunited with his adar soon. But he made no sound, merely watched his daerada and "Uncle" Seven intently, waiting for the word from them that I spoke truth.

I sighed, reaching into my tunic and drawing out a small leather pouch. I untied the silver strings and upended it. A cloak brooch fell into my waiting palm. It was beautifully wrought in silver, the design something Noldorin, the curving figure of a bird that formed a circle, a small gem glittering in its eye. I handed it wordlessly to Alagaer, who examined it. I knew he recognized it as belonging to his son, but he shook his head, raising his eyes to mine once more.

"What is this supposed to mean, Tanglinna?" he asked, handing the brooch back to me, saying clearly it was not good enough proof to convince him of my words. Indeed, I suppose it was not. I could easily have taken this. The fact that Alagaith was in Mirkwood was known and that meant the things he had worn that day were there as well.

Sighing, I turned the brooch over in my hands, fingers caressing the cool silver.

"What proof do you want of me?" I said at last, feeling defeated and at a loss. "I realize what you must be feeling now, but I am here to take little Alagant home with me so he and Linlote -"

I grimaced at my too casual use of that unflattering nickname once more, yet this was my own special name for Alagaith, meant now as an endearment, not an insult. I began again.

"So he and Alagaith can be together. What would you have me say to you? I have not been able to visit your son as often as I would have liked," - I had been shut in my own cell! – "but he is doing well, and my house is all prepared for he and Alagant to move into... until they have one of their own."

I hoped my slight faltering would go unnoticed for it was the topic I did not wish to discuss. It was a sore point for me and there was no way I could tell about the one rule without this glaring Noldo seeing it as a great insult and unkindness toward his son. I glanced back at Seven, who met my eyes impassively.

"So," Alagaer said, glaring even more fiercely that he had previously, "they are going to live in your house?"

Valar help me! If Alagaith had been filled with bitter disappointment and anger at this pronouncement concerning living quarters, what would Alagaer think? Luckily, I never found out.

"Very well," he said, his gaze shifting from Alagant back to me, "the child will go to Mirkwood...."

My heart leapt with relief!

"But," he continued, quite pleased that he was going to kill my moment of happiness, "I will stay with him until his father is released and can take care of him."

What? What?! I did not mind having Linlote and Alagant living with me, I even looked forward to having someone to talk to in the evenings- which had too often been filled with silence- to having life about me once more, but this! Living with Alagaer was not something I would enjoy! Not at all! Having this glaring, sarcastic, grouchy, old Noldo in my tiny house where there would be no escaping him, would be...would be a nightmare of the grandest kind!

But.... I swallowed back my objections, which were numerous - mostly consisting of "I do not want him there! I do not want him there! – and I nodded complacently, my face impassive.

What would Thranduil think?! I could hear him even now, his face so deadly calm and white as he spoke, "I sent you out to fetch one small child, and instead of one Noldo, you bring two? What is this, Tanglinna? Are you trying to build a Noldorin army and take over?"

"That is fine," I said, banishing the imaginary king from my thoughts. "I am sure Alagaith will be pleased to see you as well." I did not say that Alagaith would be the only one pleased to see Alagaer!

Then an even more horrid thought struck me, and I turned to Seven. Were they going to perhaps insist on bring the orc too?! No! That would never happen! Never!

"When...when can you be ready to leave?" I asked hastily, before this idea could occur to them. My fingers fiddled with the brooch some more before I finally dropped it in the bag and tucked back into my tunic.

"At once."

Then, after another swift flow of Orcish directed at Seven, who nodded reluctantly, Alagaer began to move about the small room, putting things into a battered pack.

"Of course," he continued snidely, "if you need some rest before you feel ready to depart again...."

His gaze lifted to mine, letting me know clearly how much contempt, pure and unadulterated, that he felt for me. I felt my own face contort, my fingers closing into a fist on my knee. I could easily have pointed out how rude it had been for he and Seven to speak a language before me, their guest, that I was not fluent in... but I did not. I forced my own animosity down, trying to appear gracious.

"No, thank you for your concern," I hissed through clenched teeth. Graciousness, it appeared, especially when it was false, was not something I excelled at. "I am quite well and ready to travel home whenever you are."

He smiled then, like a ravening wolf!

"I am glad to hear that, Tanglinna."

I detested the way he said my name in this manner, spoken in a mocking tone meant to intimidate me. Well...it would not work!

"Necessary but unwelcome journeys are best undertaken quickly," he quoted. Undoubtedly, that was some Noldorin proverb or something.

I stared at the tea before me, mostly untouched, as he put a few more things into his pack. Alagant stood silently watching this flurry of sudden activity. But then his eyes flew to the door, which opened and admitted...Seven. I had not even heard him leave! Accompanying him were two tall elves, Noldor, one male and one female.

Despite the chill outside, they wore no cloaks or jackets, and the female was pushing at her long spill of hair, telling me that they had come in some haste.

I studied them quickly, standing, making certain there were no visible weapons on them, when Alagaer spoke.

"Master Tanglinna," he said, again making something foul of my name, "meet...Faelivrin and Flinding of Nargothrond."

I blinked a bit as wary greetings were exchanged. Faelivrin of Nargothrond.... I frowned. There was a familiar ring to this name, like something heard in a song or poem, but I could not think what, and indeed Alagaer was cutting in once more, not allowing me time to think.

"Bid your aunt and uncles farewell, Alagant."

I moved back, away from them, very much the unwelcome outsider once more. I knew none of them trusted me, as they hugged and kissed one another and quiet words were spoken in Quenya and Orcish. They did not trust me....

It suddenly struck me that this was how poor Linlote must feel. I had come here in all honesty and integrity to fetch Alagant to his adar, only to have my motives questions, my very identity. I was met with suspicion and dislike- exactly what Linlote was experiencing in my home.

Once more I questioned why I had spoken so passionately to Linlote about Mirkwood and what he could hope to find there. If I had thought about all the implications of his actually coming as he had.... No, I had only wanted him to have a chance at a new life, the life he wanted for his son and for himself. It was too late for any misplaced regrets.

I watched Alagant kiss and hug his family good-bye, making certain that his little dragon had said his farewells, his face seeming very childlike just now, so innocent.

_Please let them have good, happy lives in Mirkwood_, I prayed, feeling my obligation to both Alagaith and Alagant. I wanted them to be happy and I would do what I could, regardless of any opposition, be it Noldorin or Sindarin. Perhaps, for once, the Valar would listen to me.

A silence fell, an expectant hush, and I turned to Alagaer, who was smirking in a most irritating manner, no doubt sensing my unease at being trapped in this situation, which should have been a private family affair. Yes, I was once again sharply reminded that I was breaking up a family, a very close, loving one who, for so long, had only had each other.

"We will leave whenever you are ready," I murmured in a low voice, hoping that my sincere feelings would show to these strangers. I truly meant no harm. I had done what I could, explained why I had come, and been met with suspicion, made to feel like some cruel kidnapper. What else could I do or say?

Alagaer smiled then, not a nice smile that would have eased my mind, but one that would be more at home on a dragon's face – a dragon about to roast you alive!

"We are only waiting for you, Tanglinna," he said, knowing quite well that he had the upper hand in this situation.

_We are only waiting for you, Tanglinna,_ I thought with a sneer, my patience with this wearing very thin.

"Then I suggest we go now," I said briskly, ready to leave this homey place that I might have liked quite well under different circumstances. Unfortunately, the main reason this place was so uncomfortable was now going to be traveling with me! "We should travel as far as we can before it gets dark." I wished we could have made it back to Gladaran Thamas before nightfall, but that was not possible.

I tipped my head to the tall Noldorin elves, and eyes Seven speculatively. He was an orc...and Linlote's closest friend. Before he knew of my mission and my identity, he had been kind, civil. I bowed to him, then moved past them and opened the door, the cold air swirling into the warm little home. I adjusted my cloak and stepped outside, trying not to look as thought I were fleeing.

I drew a deep breath, filling my lungs with the crisp winter air. I turned to see Alagaer saying his last farewells as they exited after me. He was fastening his cloak about his throat, and I frowned. It was my cloak! The one I had given to Linlote after we had escaped Gurshak's lair. I turned away then, a slight smile touching my lips even though I knew the journey ahead would be one of the hardest ones of my life. I had thought about commenting that my cloak suited him, for it did, better than it had me, but .... No. I did not want to wound his pride – a very bad way to start a relationship.

I nodded to Seven and the elves, trying not to see their sorrowful faces as they watched us leaving Esgaroth. I felt better now that I was outside and moving southwest, toward home. Perhaps things would work out for the best after all...if I treaded with care where Linlote's adar was concerned. Perhaps the journey would not be as horrible as I imagined it. Anything was possible, only....

For some reason inexplicable to me, it appeared to be my fate to always antagonize grouchy old Noldorin elves that were related to someone I cared for. How else to explain that I felt as though Alagaer were Riwmegor reborn? Granted, he was more polite than my father-in-law had ever been, but he was just as distant and cold, quite overwhelming when he chose, and certainly threw many narrow-eyed glares my way throughout the course of our journey.

We had moved out of Laketown fairly quickly with the two tall Noldorin elves – Faelivrin and Flinding – and the orc Seven watching our departure and looking none too happy about it. I feared that once we were out of earshot, the worried glances – worried and angry - and the whispered comments about the wisdom of Alagaith's chosen course would begin. What they must think of all this, I truly did not want to know, but it was with an effort that I kept my eyes facing forward and did not glance back as I wished to...or did not wish to.

Alagaer had kept little Alagant close by his side as we traveled northwest at a fairly good pace, a surprisingly swift pace considering Alagant's tender years. He kept up with my long-legged strides with seeming ease.

Since I was in the lead, I did not have time for the surreptitious glances that I wished to direct at my companions. It was not until I suggested we halt for the night that I truly had the chance to study them at any length.

They were very like Linlote, in their mannerisms as well as their looks. There were no wasted movements from Alagaer, and Alagant seemed to copy his daerada, something he obviously was quite used to doing, as he did things just as Alagaer did them without thinking. This brought a smile to my lips. I could easily see how Linlote must be pining for their company, dubious as I felt about Alagaer. No matter what irritating little foibles our loved ones had, we were always glad to have them about us. There were times that I even missed Riwmegor balancing his dagger upon his fingertip then tossing it into the air and catching it...with a quirk of his dark brows at me afterwards.

Again, I recalled the feeling of not belonging, which had been made more than clear to me back at their unassuming abode in Esgaroth. They were family, even if not related by blood, but by shared experiences, joys, sorrows, love. This is what made family. Once more I found myself contemplating Linlote's choice. Was it the right one? Quite clearly, with the exception of little Alagant who was moved about by the whims of his elders, Linlote's family did not like his decision to come to Mirkwood, their accusing eyes had made that imminently clear! His resolution had disrupted their lives, lives that were far from comfortable, but still familiar and welcome – and that familiarity is what they clung to. We all do. We do not want change. Change is hard, even if it is for the better. I did not begrudge them their feelings or their blame. Yet, Linlote had made his choice and there was not going back now.

A hot dinner was in order after our cold tramp into Mirkwood, and I chose a spot near the river where there was plenty of dead wood for a small fire. Perhaps if the Valar smiled on us, we might catch a fist or two for dinner. The river was not frozen over, ice merely rimed the edges, for the water ran deep and swiftly, not giving into the chill air so easily. I recalled that Alagaer had been cooking something when I had arrived so unexpectedly at their front door. I was certain they were hungry – I certainly was! – but all I carried was some journey bread and a flask of water, not much of a meal at all.

I lay my bow, quiver, and pack beneath a tree and began to hunt for a suitable fallen branchy to serve as a fishing pole. Or perhaps two would be better.... I glanced back to where Alagaer was gathering some branches, no doubt intending to make a fire. His eyes moved about intently, checking for the many dangers that he had heard inhabited Mirkwood. Occasionally, his gaze would fall on his grandson, and I knew he must harbor great doubts and fears as to Alagaith's new plan for their lives. Indeed, I harbored a few of my own.

When at last his eyes fell on me, it was with undisguised suspicion. I suppressed a sigh, wishing I were more of a conversationalist, one of those people to whom the right subject always presented itself, and words flowed like honey from their lips. Alas, I could not do this....

I found two branches that would make marvelous fishing poles and, kneeling by my things, I rummaged in my pack for the string and small packet of hooks I carried with me. I set about tying the string to the branches and fixing the hooks to them.

I noticed that Alagant was now watching me with what I hoped was interest. I sat down, slowing the process of knotting strings and hooks as he watched.

"Do you like to fish, Alagant?" I asked nonchalantly, seemingly engrossed in my work before glancing over at him. It would not do to scare either Alagant or his daerada.

He gazed over at me, looking like I might perhaps turn into some strange Mirkwood Monster and gobble him up, but I guess he decided I would do no such thing – not with his equally scary grandfather nearby anyway – and he nodded.

"I do, Master Tanglinna," he chirped at last with a hesitant smile.

I returned the smile easily, and patted the chill ground beside me, inviting him to join me. He looked over at Alagaer before moving to settle beside me.

I finished the smaller of the two 'poles' and handed it to him then turning my attention to my own pole.

"There are a lot of places here in Mirkwood to fish, Alagant. I will gladly show them to you and your ada...and your daerada," I added with a glance at Alagaer, who was preparing the wood for the fire. When I looked back at Alagant, I was rewarded with another of his sunny smiles.

"Thank you," he said. "That is very kind of you."

He sounded so very formal and grownup that I had to smile once more. I stood, beckoning for him to follow me. I lay my cloak on the ground for us to sit on, then settled comfortably before casting my line into the cold waters.

I needed to get Alagant to speak with me in a more relaxed manner than he had been, and I knew this might not be easy seeing that the child was probably very aware of his grandfather's disapproval of me. But what could I speak of to make him less wary?

My eyes followed the restless flow of the river, watching it splash between the banks that hemmed it in, and how it swirled about the rocks in its midst. It was not always easy to navigate this part of the river. In fact....

"We make rafts from barrels," I began suddenly, "and send them to Laketown. Have you ever ridden on a barrel raft before? It is quite fun," I finished with a grin, recalling how every youngling anticipated their first trip to Laketown atop the bouncing barrel rafts. Perhaps someday Alagant would be looking forward to such a thing.

The child shook his head in answer to my query, his face filled with concentration on the task at hand. He looked very like Alagaith then, the intent, pale face beneath a tumble of light brown curls – his mother's soft curls as Alagaith had told me. This brought a wistful smile to my lips. The poor little Alagant had never known his naneth at all....

"No," he said suddenly, breaking into my melancholy thoughts. Then he was looking at me with those grey eyes that were his father's. "Do you think we could go to Laketown on such a raft and visit my aunt and uncles?"

The child may never have known his naneth, but he did have a family, one he was very close to - a family that I had just taken him from....

"Yes," I began slowly, tugging slightly on my line. "I think it would be wonderful for you to arrive in Laketown on a barrel raft. Your aunt and uncles...would be very happy to see you, and think you were a fine barrel rider."

Of course his thoughts would be on his loved ones and no doubt he wondered when he would ever see them again. He must have been rather distressed by this separation, yet he was behaving bravely and in a very grown-up manner, not like a twelve-year-old elfling might have.

Alagant smiled at my assurance that he would be able to visit Laketown, which meant seeing his beloved family, his eyes once more intent on his fishing line. But then he turned back to me, the smile having vanished as quickly as it had come; his small face was suddenly earnest.

"May I ask you a question, Master Tanglinna?"

"Yes, you may," I answered this query, though I wondered what sort of thoughts made him look so very pale and serious, so very...unhappy, his eyes haunted.

"Now that they release my father...they will use a whip, won't they? And ...you have come to make me watch."

This was not really a question, more a statement of a fact that he already knew quite well, sounding very sad indeed, and resigned to whatever answer I would give for I believe he thought there was only one answer, a foregone conclusion. It was a struggle to keep the shock and horror I felt at this 'question' from my face, not to mention the anger I felt swell within me as the implication of what he said formed in my mind. Why else would he think such a thing if this had not happened before?

"No, child," I answered in an even voice, turning to look at him, though as taken aback as I was by what he had said, I did not quite know how to reassure him that what he knew would happen would not. "King Thranduil himself sent me to fetch you and bring you to Mirkwood. You and your ada will be living at my house...for a while. King Thranduil knew that your ada wanted to see you very badly, and the king wants you to be there, waiting for your ada so you can surprise him. Won't you like that?"

I forced what I hoped was a heartening smile to my face, but I wonder if I kept my anger and dismay from my eyes for the little child smiled somewhat hesitantly and said, "Yes...I would like that."

His eyes did not shine with wonder or awe at the mention of the ruler of Mirkwood, as most children's would have, or at the thought of surprising his adar. His face was, if anything, devoid of any emotion. Unfortunately, I knew only too well what he must be feeling, or trying not to feel. Children whose childhoods have been cut short, or are not what they should be, often try to hide from any pleasurable emotion or hope for fear that it might not be real and they would only be disappointed and hurt when this good thing did not come to pass. Or perhaps he felt that I was trying to gloss over what would befall him and his adar in Mirkwood, trying to lull him into a false sense of security. For what sort of security did the life he had been born into have?

"I have missed him, too," he finished in a quiet voice, and something did flare in his eyes then: a desperate loneliness and longing to see his ada again.

"I know that you have," I said quietly, knowing that feeling all too well, waking up to find the loved one was not at your side, the sheets chill where their body should have been so warm and alive, "and you will be the best surprise that your ada can have."

I could see that he doubted my words and my heart ached for this poor child whose life had not always been as kind as it could have been or should have been. But I straightened a bit, determined that the rest of his childhood should be wonderful and free from any sort of pain and life lessons that he had already suffered through. I smiled jauntily.

"I remember when King Thranduil was just your size. He was quite a bit of trouble really. I suppose you never get into any sort of trouble." I turned to gaze at the chill rushing water, thinking that any elfling I had the pleasure of knowing had certainly gotten into any number of 'troubles' that were fun and endearing...once the trouble was over with.

But he did not smile ruefully or laugh at some childish antic of his. He seemed to ponder this quite seriously.

"What sort of trouble?" he asked at last, and I knew that perhaps I had said the wrong thing, for what would he think of when I mentioned 'trouble'? Undoubtedly, he was not thinking of all the little things that elflings living safely and securely get into.

"Oh, just the usual troubles that elflings find themselves in now and then...like chasing after spiders to make them into pets, or bringing the black squirrels into the house an setting them loose, or taking a barrel raft to Laketown and getting stuck in the middle of the river on your pole with the raft floating away from you." I did grin a bit then, thinking of that old incident. Only Legolas and his friends would do something that ridiculous.

Alagant's eyes grew huge at this pronouncement, and I did not know if he were thinking what bad elflings there were in Mirkwood to get into such things, or if it sounded wonderful and exciting and he wondered what it felt like to get into that sort of 'trouble'.

"I do not think I have gotten into trouble yet, then...." He grinned wryly at this statement, making him look so very sweet and childlike, but then his next words cut me to the quick. "Or does getting imprisoned count?"

How was I to respond to this? To him trouble was something else entirely – something that was usually grown-up trouble, real trouble, and not some childish prank or fun that one laughed about later. I drew a deep breath, trying to order my thoughts and not say something that might damage the relationship that I had started with him.

"Well, if you have not gotten into trouble yet.... There is a lot of...fun trouble to be found in Mirkwood, and I am sure you will find it, if it does not find you first. I think you should talk with Thranduil's youngest son. He excels at getting into trouble and we all have a good laugh about it. You do like to laugh, don't you?"

I turned to smile down at him, hoping that I had said the right thing, turning the subject to lighter matters, and leaving his unhappy memories behind for now.

One indignant eyebrow shot up, and I stifled a laugh for he looked exactly like his adar when he did this.

"That is a silly question, Master Tanglinna," he stated, sounding very abrupt and forthright...just like Linlote. But then he laughed, looking like himself again, a sweet child.

"Yes," I said with a chuckle. "I suppose that is rather a silly question, Alagant," I agreed, and thought how wonderful it would be to see he and Alagaith reunited once more. Surely, there was no better, more intense feeling than being reunited with those that you love after an absence of some time.... "I can be silly at times. You will have to be patient with me, I fear." I sighed rather dramatically then, my lips quirking into a grin and I winked at him.

He laughed then, a wonderful, merry sound that was like the most beautiful music ever composed...and he winked back. Relief surged through me. Perhaps I was not as inept at this as I had feared.

"But," he began again, his face intent once more, "why would trouble be fun? If it is fun, it is no trouble."

Actually, that was a very good question.

I laughed.

"That is a good question, Alagant," I said. "But I assure you that trouble can be fun. Shall I tell you a story about some rather fun trouble?"

He nodded, looking eager, and I gazed into the water once more, trying to think of what story of elfling exploits I could tell that he would enjoy. As I studied the swiftly flowing water, I smiled. Yes, that was the appropriate tale.

"Do you recall when I mentioned a pole getting stuck in the river and the raft floating away? Well, that did happen to three young elves that you will meet. They are a bit older than you are, so they certainly should have known better, but the river can be tricky at times and one must always be alert when on traveling it. These three elves, Legolas, Tavor, and Brethil had decided to take a load of barrels into Esgaroth, your Laketown. You see, we wood-elves get a lot of things that are imported from other parts of Arda, and the people in Laketown send them to us in barrels. When the barrels are empty, we send the barrels back to them to use again. So Legolas, Tavor, and Brethil were on their way on their barrel raft. They had done this before so there was none of the slipping and sliding about for balance, and everything seemed fine as they sailed away, smiling and waving merrily to those of us on the shore watching them depart.

The way the rafts are propelled is by long poles, which you use by pushing off the bottom of the river. The current will carry the rafts on its own at some places, but at others, you need the pole to keep you moving. The pole is also useful for pushing away from any rocks that jut out of the water. Though in this instance it was rocks that caused the problem, rocks they did not see, lying in wait beneath the water. Brethil, who was in charge of the pole that day had jammed it down into a small circle of rocks on the bottom and the pole was quite stuck. Well, he tried to free it, working rather frantically while the other two did not seem to notice, but it would not come loose, so instead of letting go of the pole and using one of the spares they carried with them...though I seem to remember some tale about them losing the other poles that day.... Anyway, he held tight to the pole and was left hanging onto it for dear life while the raft drifted away on the slow current, Legolas staring at him in distress and Tavor...well, Tavor found the entire incident to be most hilarious, and laughed quite uproariously until a low hanging tree branch, that he did not see as he was looking behind him at poor Brethil, hit Tavor in the head and knocked him into the water. The poor prince, Legolas is Thranduil's youngest son, did not know what to do. He had no way of stopping the raft as their poles were all lost to them, but for the one that Brethil clung to in the middle of the river. In the end, he decided to let the barrels go free and he jumped into the water and swam to the bank to join a very wet, and spluttering Tavor. It took them quite some time to persuade Brethil to let go of the pole. In the end he did, and they traveled to the nearest village down the river and found the raft had made its journey that far safe and sound. Of course, the inhabitants were surprised to find an empty barrel raft floating in the river all alone and wondered what could have happened to the barrel riders. So when three, wet, bedraggled young elves came shivering into the village, and the tale of their adventure was told, the mystery of the Empty Barrel Raft was solved."

Through out the tale, Alagant laughed and smiled, enjoying the tale. Neither of us had thought much about the fish we were supposed to be catching. That did not seem to matter. It was good to see him like this, much more at ease, happier. I smiled. After a moment, he spoke.

"If that is trouble, I believe I have been in trouble." He chuckled as some thought crossed his mind, tickling at his memory. "There was that warg once...Oh! And one time, Uncle Seven and I tried to make a Yule cake, and...." The rushing spill of words was abruptly cut off when Alagaer placed on warning hand on the child's shoulder. I had not even heard him approaching.

"I believe," he said quietly though rather sternly, "it is not the right time to tell that story now, Alagant."

Clearly, he was saying it was not the right time to tell anything to that strange Silvan that waltzed into our house and tried to steal you away!

I gazed up at Alagaer, and smiled oh-so-kindly at him.

"There will be plenty of time for storytelling, Alagant," I said in an equally quiet voice to match the tone that Alagaer had taken, though mine held none of his disapproval. I tugged gently on my fishing line. "I wonder where all the fish have gone to day." I winked once more at Linlote's son, then turned to quirk one brow at Linlote's glowering adar, and smiled at him again. Sometimes, I could be quite infuriating if I so chose.

But he tried to scare me with his own smile, so icy cold and filled with malice, grey eyes like troubled storm clouds. He was indeed the epitome of the Scary Old Noldorin Elf, but I was the epitome of the Inscrutable Silvan.

"Your chattering will have scared them away," he rejoined in turn, eyes narrowing slightly as though he thought he could skewer me with his glance.

He obviously did not know me very well, did he....

"Perhaps," I answered, still smiling, not at all afraid of glaring old Noldor. "But I think our fish are a bit bolder than that in Mirkwood." Not only the fish were bolder than he thought! "Maybe we just need to sing to them." I turned from grinning wickedly at Alagaer to met Alagant's shining eyes. "Do you like to sing?" I asked him, knowing that he did for all elves enjoy lifting their voices in song. Not to mention that music soothes the savage...Noldo.

Alagant nodded eagerly, either oblivious to the undercurrent between his daerada and I or choosing to ignore it. He did gaze up at Alagaer then though, and silence fell suddenly as something passed between the two of them without Alagaer even looking at his grandson.

"I do not believe that singing will be of much help," that old charmer with immaculate Noldorin braids said.

Ah.... So, this was a challenge of sorts? So be it.

I grinned slightly, actually relishing the chance to win over Alagant regardless of what Alagaer wanted, said or did not say. I knew that he must harbor less than kind feelings toward the elves of Mirkwood; we had, after all, imprisoned his son. He probably had transferred all his ill feelings onto me. But he had to realize that this was Alagaith's choice to make, not his, and I would do everything within my power to bring about the happiness and security that I knew Linlote wanted for his family. Drawing a deep breath, I smiled once more. I can look most innocent when I wish to.

"This is a fishing song that my sister taught to me when I was a little younger than you are, Alagant."

I had not sung this particular song in many a year, not since Malhesie had died, in fact. I had not even remembered that I knew it until I had said this. It was a somewhat silly song about the jumping fish in the silver stream, the wriggling worm on the hook. I had always enjoyed singing it with her and I enjoyed singing it now for Linlote's child. I sang it in Silvan, and then switched to Sindarin, since I was not certain if Alagant would know Silvan. Few did now.

Amazingly, as I finished the first verse, there was a tug on my heretofore- ignored line and I stood, pulling the line in very carefully. With a somewhat...smirking grin at Alagaer, I reeled in a large trout, its scales gleaming like a rainbow in the twilight. It was a lovely fish indeed!

"You see?" I said quite happily, sending a quick prayer of thanks to the Valar for aiding me in my plight. "Why don't you try that song, Alagant?"

Alagaer did not look happy in the least that we would have such a delicious, hot dinner. Indeed, he looked like he wished to...strangle me with my braid? Now, why on Arda would he want to do that? Another smirk tugged on my lips.

"I know a better fishing song, Master Tanglinna," Alagant chirped, shaking his head earnestly. He began to sing, in Quenya of course. There were some rather odd words mixed in with the liquid flow of the tongue of my wife and my mother. It was a fun song as well, and...it worked just as well as mine had for the lad drew up another fine trout at least as large as my own. Needless to say, Alagaer smirked just as hard at me as I had at him. Unlike him, I found it highly amusing.

I grinned, acknowledging that yes, on occasion Quenya was good for something.

"Well done, Alagant!" I praised. "Did your daerada teach you that one?"

Brown curls danced as he shook his head once more, eyes gleaming with pride, his cheeks flushed with the victory of his accomplishment.

"No, my ada," he answered, leaving off the more formal 'r' at the end of the word. "But Uncle Gwin knows it too, of course.... It is Lord Guilin's fishing song."

He looked up at me, beaming quite happily. It was a song of Nargothrond then, a song of Lord Guilin.... I frowned slightly, recalling his exact words: 'but Uncle Gwin knows it too, of course....' Uncle Gwin? His uncles were Seven and Flinding.... I shook my head slightly, not quite ready to try and figure out what he meant, though why he would think that Gwindor of Nargothrond – no other Gwin came to mind - was his uncle, and he spoke as if he were alive.... No. That did not make sense, so why think on it? I did manage to look over at Alagaer, who seemed suddenly wary and avoided meeting my eyes. One of my brows shot up as I waited for him to acknowledge me, but he did not, so I returned my attention to the elfling standing so proudly with his fish. But...it appeared there was some mystery here to be unraveled at some point, and I would make certain that it was Alagaer that I cornered when the time came.

"It is a magnificent song indeed, Alagant! You shall have to teach it to me. I do know Quenya even if I am..." I gazed over at Alagaer, "a mere Wood-elf. It sounds like we have many wonderful things to talk about." Yet another smirk settled on my face. I really should try to control them better! "I am sure your daerada has some wonderful tales and songs to share with us as well."

Though I may have been feeling just a bit victorious and smug, I was being sincere. I wanted Alagaer to make an effort to at least get along with me...if only for Alagaith's sake...and Alagant's. I was certainly willing to try...now if only he would.... But....

"I would prefer," he began in a cold voice, his smile just as inviting as his eyes – meaning not at all! – "to share a few recipes for preparing fish first, Tanglinna. If you permit?" He snatched the fish from Alagant and then from me. "You can help me, Alagant," he finished, turning and walking away. Well, he _stalked_ away, shoulders hunched forward, his hands nearly white on the fishing lines.

Alagant flashed a very quick smile at me, to let me know that he at least did not despise me, then hurried after Alagaer. Once they were out of earshot, I sighed heavily, feeling weary as though I had just been in a battle for my life.

It was going to be a very long and...interesting trip indeed.... To think, this journey to Mirkwood was just the beginning of it!

----

Days passed, unhappy days between the times in a world that was none, until Mordil came to visit me for a second time. I could tell he was arriving even before the door swung open; by then, I knew quite well that the steps accompanying Ecthelhador's as the captain approached my cell were not that of another guard.

I smiled in happy anticipation even as the key was turned in the lock; Tanglinna's presence meant distraction and good conversation, even if he had been sent to inform me about even more rules and restrictions.  
  
But this did not even seem to be the case; Mordil appeared far too happy for that. He was grinning widely as he swept past Ecthelhador and entered the cell. "Bright day, Linlote! How are you faring?"  
  
"I was fine until you had to disturb my thoughts, Mordil", I replied, playfully raising an eyebrow and willing down my unreasonable wish to answer his query just by a smile and telling him how glad I was to see him. "If the last stanza of that song about the colour of stones never gets finished, it will be entirely your fault."  
  
My friend chuckled. "Hm... perhaps I should leave you to finish it first...and come back later." His eyes briefly flitted towards Ecthelhador who was lingering in the doorway. "Or...." He paused with a grin that was even wider than the one that had graced his face when he had greeted me, one brow raised in a most mocking manner, daring me to draw my own conclusions or to ask for an explanation.  
  
I humoured him. "Or?"  
  
"It is quite a lovely day. Would you care to join me outside for a walk?" Tanglinna was smiling now, eyes shining, all irony chased away by pure and simple joy, joy that I could see and sense – yet it took me a moment before I felt it myself and was truly convinced that I had understood him correctly. A walk, a walk outside.... This could only mean one thing, freedom, or half-freedom, as it was, but at least release from the confines of this too narrow cell.  
  
I forced myself not to hug the bearer of these excellent news, but I could not keep a huge, happy smile from spreading all over my face; yet, I managed to answer in a calm, almost nonchalant voice. "I might do that."  
  
Tanglinna was still smiling a little. "Good. Um...shall we?" He gestured to the open doorway and what lay beyond, and I followed the path his outstretched arm indicated, past Ecthelhador, who was sighing and muttering something about overly dramatic half-breed elves, along the corridor, up the stairs, into the Hall and then towards the large doors behind which the forest and freedom were waiting.  
  
It was not real as long as we were inside the dimly lit caves, a strange, dreamlike journey, filled with anticipation, but not real yet; and then, we were outside, in the bright sunshine of a winter's day, clear air, crisp and cold, enveloping us in a frosty embrace, and life returned.  
  
All was as it was supposed to be, the sunlight, almost too bright for my poor eye that had grown accustomed to darkness and the soft light of torches these past few weeks, the blue sky, the murmur of the river accompanying the song of the trees, a little bird fluttering away, disturbed by our sudden arrival... The world had not vanished or changed overly much in my forced absence. How long had it been?

When I finally turned to look at Mordil, it cost me an effort not to ask what day it was now; down in Ecthelhador's realm of stone, I had stopped counting. But a silly question of little importance would not have been a good thing to start a new life with, while something had to be said; alas, nothing meaningful and eloquent would come to my mind.  
  
"So this is over," I finally remarked, quietly thanking the Valar that it was so.  
  
Tanglinna smiled, knowing very well what I meant; nevertheless, he replied: "No...it is just beginning." Studying my face, he added: "It must be overwhelming for you."  
  
Of course it was; but I had known it would be like this and knew equally well that the feeling would vanish. So I answered: "Now, it is.... But that will have passed tomorrow or the day after."  
  
It had taken longer to get used to life and freedom again in the past, but I would not tell Mordil that; perhaps he knew it himself, and if not so, I would not burden him with worries of little consequence now that he was already burdened with me. With a grin, I finished: "It was not such a long time, after all."

This was both true and untrue; true, as the king could easily have made me spent many more weeks in a cell to atone for a crime that was usually punished by hacking off the culprit's hand, but also untrue, as I had never spent so long a time without Alagant before, and also longer a time than I usually liked to spend without my family. Now that I was nearly free and could almost – almost, had it not been for invisible bonds! – have set off and gone straight to Esgaroth from here without walls, doors, locks and singing captains being in my way, it seemed even harder to bear than before that I should be deprived of their presence even for one further moment.  
  
If Mordil knew what I was thinking of – and perhaps he did – he chose not to touch the difficult subject. "There is so much that I want to show you, but...I think you shall have to settle for the nice walk over the bridge to our house for now," he said instead, turning and heading for the bridge over the forest river. "I do not want you to be too overwhelmed...and you are probably hungry."  
  
Hungry! That was all he could think of? Hungry.... As if they had tried to starve me down there! Yet, I refrained from making any harsh comments; Mordil did not mean any harm, and I should have been touched that he was so ready to take care of me. So I merely followed him, suppressing a resigned sigh and telling myself that I had better get used to showing some patience and doing what he told me. This situation could not be easy for him, either.  
  
"Can we send a message to Laketown some time today?" I enquired when we were crossing the bridge. "I want my family to know that I am well... and more or less free."  
  
Mordil turned to look at me with what appeared to be a reassuring smile – or more, for without being able to say precisely why I thought so, I had the odd feeling that this smile hid some other expression. "I will see that a message is sent to them immediately, Linlote," he promised, his lips twitching slightly before his hand shot up to cover his mouth as a most peculiar bout of cough had seized him out of a sudden. "I am sure they will be pleased to hear you are finally free."  
  
Turning around again, he led me onto a left-hand pathway, narrow but well-worn, that led into the forest near the riverbank. I remembered how he had told me that he lived in a little house in the trees, 'just across the river from the palace' and smiled a bit wistfully; somehow, I would have preferred a longer way through the wintry woods to being brought straight from one cell into the next... No! It was most ungrateful to think of it this way. I would simply have to enjoy this short walk and what if could offer, the chill breeze, the comforting feeling of moving in the open again, the glorious light – and the smell of baked apples. Baked apples?  
  
Admittedly, this could have been sheer coincidence; I suspected that there were apple-loving elves somewhere in Mirkwood, and it was not beyond reason to assume that someone had decided to turn the last apples stored for winter into a warm and tasty treat on such a cold day. But then, houses here were usually scattered in the woods and not immediately next to that of a neighbour. It seemed reasonable enough that those baked apples were waiting for us in Mordil's house, and it would have been very strange indeed if he should have chosen exactly this kind of food to welcome me by chance.  
  
Back in Nargothrond, someone – Eliant, I believe, for he had always been the one to remind his acquaintances of such unflattering truths – had once told me that the surest way of killing me would consist in poisoning a baked apple. Hoping that no one planning to murder me is reading this, I have to admit that it was just as he said – but Tanglinna could not possibly have known this at that point of our acquaintance, if not... "Is there something... I should know, Mordil?" I asked, halting my steps and suddenly wishing not to have to go on to find a slim bit of kind hope shattered by an empty house.  
  
Tanglinna turned to me again, his face almost inscrutable – but not inscrutable enough to hide that he had to fight a little to keep it devoid of emotion. "What are you talking about, Linlote? Come along. It is not that much farther. Unless you would prefer to go somewhere else first. I thought perhaps you would like to wash up a bit, eat something, change into clean clothes." He lifted one brow as if in query, but he did not really expect an answer, and did not receive one.  
  
I quickened my pace a little when we walked on towards a small clearing ringed with tall oaks and beeches. A house was comfortably nestled in the branches of these trees, small and unassuming indeed, but looking cosy enough. A rope ladder led up to the porch that surrounded the entire house. Tanglinna began to climb, not looking back to see if I would follow him, and I thought that being guarded by him might not be quite that unbearable if he continued to show this amount of trust.  
  
"I hope you find my bed comfortable enough for you, Linlote," he called back to me, already halfway up the ladder.  
  
I followed him swiftly, but not out of any hopes to be able to try out his comfortable bed soon. "Who told you about the apples, Mordil?"  
  
Tanglinna really needed Gurshak as an audience to be remotely convincing as an actor. "Hm? What do you mean, Linlote?" he asked, but his face betrayed that he was not as surprised by my question as he pretended to be.  
  
"You know that very well," I replied, but with a smile; for once, I felt that worry and doubt were silenced within me in favour of the bright voice of merry anticipation. I could sense now that the house was not empty, even though there was no movement, no noise at all.  
  
Tanglinna waited for me on the porch. "I do not have the slightest clue what you mean, Linlote." he said, not sounding terribly convincing, and moved to open the door for me.  
  
Sensing that I was hesitating a little, he grinned. "Are you going to stand in the doorway all day, Linlote? There are no spiders waiting inside to devour you...I have not let Nimdir and Laebrui near the place, I promise." With these most reassuring words, he shoved me into the front room of the house, and towards two faces peering anxiously and excitedly from the bedroom beyond.  
  
"Welcome home, Linlote," he murmured quietly – at least, thinking back now, I am quite certain he did. Back then, I hardly heard his words, for in a heartbeat, Alagant was in my arms and nothing else counted. It even took me some time to realize that I was crying quite happily, though, once I had noticed, I tried to stifle my tears; there is hardly anything more disconcerting than a weeping parent.  
  
Mordil was tactful enough to forget about his guard duties for some time, and even if I had not heard him retire back down the ladder, I would have known that he was gone, for my father waited until he had disappeared before he enveloped both my son and me in a close hug, as Alagant was not ready to let go of me any time soon.

The baked apples were almost cold when we finally proceeded to eat them.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3 One Spring Morning

Disclaimer: Middle Earth and its inhabitants are the property of the Tolkien Estate. We merely enjoy writing there.

On Rare Occasions

Chapter 3 - Early One Spring Morning….

The soft wind toying with the branches high above me whispered of the return of life after winter's dark night. Birds were twittering merrily, and even the murmur of the river behind the long row of hawthorn bushes that marked the boundary of the king's garden seemed to be part of the peaceful song of spring that engulfed me. With its carpet of wood anemones bathed in the rays of a kindly afternoon sun, the forest did not seem to deserve its unflattering name of 'Mirkwood', and there was no better place to be than the king's garden on such a fine day.

I felt quite grateful towards the unknown kind soul who had decided that I should be assigned to loosening the soil out here instead of burdening me with yet another dull round of scrubbing the dungeon stairs or the like. But then, the last few days had been considerably better than the previous weeks, as they had brought what I had been longing for ever since the beginning of winter, a small measure of true freedom and the privilege of being alone.

Humming to myself, an old tune of Nargothrond that spoke of longing for a fair maiden and waiting for her beneath the budding leaves, I felt a slight pang of guilt, for I would not have been on my own and as free as I felt if Mordil had not been gone, undertaking his sad annual journey south, to be with elves who were no more, in a place that was no more, scratching open a wound that had never properly healed instead of letting the past rest.

But this glorious afternoon, the first bright day after a rainy week, did not lend itself to morose thoughts, and it would have been a crime to let remorse at something I was not responsible for cloud my enjoyment of an idyll so perfect that one could have suspected that Eru Himself was smiling at us just then…

"I am very glad to see you, Master Alagaith! Very glad indeed!"

Raising my head at this greeting, I found myself looking up into the smiling face of someone who was most definitely not Eru.

"Good afternoon, Master Galion." Even though I returned his smile politely, I had no idea what brought the royal butler here and why he was so obviously pleased to see me. While I had not been treated unkindly by the wood-elves so far, they had good reason to remain somewhat suspicious and distant, so being greeted with this most peculiar mixture of joy and relief was more than strange.

"Good afternoon indeed." Whatever Galion planned to do in the king's gardens obviously involved his remaining standing right in front of me and plucking at his sleeves like a nervous elfling. After a while, he finally spoke, hesitantly and throwing about worried glances. "I...that is, I have a ..." He looked around yet again, as if he suspected a listener to be hiding in the hawthorn bushes. I could not help deciding that Galion would have made a lousy conspirator. "I have a favor to ask of you," he finally said.

This was not quite what I had expected. "And what 'favor' might that be?"

Galion was silent for a moment yet again. "Ah, well, it is a matter of...well, that is, you see...you have heard of the sword fighting competition, have you not? It is something we all look forward to after a long winter and not much activity...that is, well, I look forward to watching it, and was quite anticipating it as I make my special cakes just for it, and well...but this year...well..."

He had begun fidgeting with his sleeve again, and, as if realizing that this was not a proper gesture for a dignified butler, finally opened his fingers to release the tormented cloth. Only a moment later, he was busy twirling a strand of hair around his finger and rambled on: "Well, this year, someone...or someones if I am not mistaken, have placed my name on the list of competitors...I am a butler! Not a warrior, and while I wield a sword when I must, I do not wield it well enough to embarrass myself in front of the court as Master Tanglinna did when he fought you...Well, yes, he did actually embarrass himself as the sword is not his chosen weapon either." As if he had told me more than he had originally intended to say, he paused before he concluded: "I am most distressed."

This last statement was visibly true.

According to what I had been able to glean from some overheard conversations, the sword fighting competition was quite a prestigious affair, not as important as the yearly archery contest, of course, but still enough of an event to draw much attention. Even those living in the outlying regions of Mirkwood would travel to Gladaran Thamas to watch it, and as far as I knew, some of the very finest warriors of the wood-elven realm took part in it.

If Galion's name had found its way onto the list of participants without his doing, he was in a most unfortunate situation indeed, but while I pitied him, I did not understand what he expected me to do now. Did he want me to help him find out who was behind this? Or had he deluded himself into believing that he could persuade me to take part in some silly revenge plot?

"So some people played a trick on you and placed your name on that list without your knowledge?" I finally began. "That is most unpleasant indeed. Who would do such a thing? And...How can I help you?"

The butler hesitated a bit, but finally, he spoke. "Well, I do not know for certain who put my name on the list, but I suspect" – leaning closer to me, he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper – "the king's youngest child and his troublesome friends. They are always pulling pranks, even at their age, and they probably found it amusing to place my name on the list. But," – here he frowned, plucking at his sleeve once more – "I would like you to help me...help me at least not look the fool in the contest. I do not expect to win, of course, but... I could take my name from the list, but that would perhaps make me appear cowardly, and I am not a coward, merely not the best swordsman in Mirkwood. I know what I excel at and it is not that."

While it did not surprise me at all that young Legolas and his friends were the prime suspects for the heinous crime – a mere week ago, my father had claimed he had seen those three scoundrels trying to hide a muskrat in the king's study, and there had been that infamous orc helmet incident shortly after I had been released from the dungeons – Galion's request did, and now that it was out, he appeared even more worried and insecure than before, as if he fully expected me to refuse.

I had no intention of doing so, but I was still puzzled. "You would like me to give you sword fighting lessons?" Why me, the former thief, the stranger? There were two very fine swordmasters in Mirkwood, after all, and probably more than enough warriors who could have helped him as well.

Galion misunderstood the intent of my question. "I assure you, I will do my best. I will try my hardest to do as you say." He sounded a bit imploring, as if I were his only hope indeed.

I shook my head a little. "Do not worry... I am certain you would make a very fine swordsman indeed." I was not certain at all, but it would have been cruel to discourage him. He seemed to have the will to do something about his sword fighting skills, and that was more than could be said of others. "I merely wondered why you believe I would make a good teacher. What about the swordmasters? They could probably show you all you need to know, and..." I grinned and finished with a shrug: "Well, you know them."

I had not meant to embarrass the poor butler with my words, but he flushed a bit and looked highly uncomfortable. "I fear that I could never learn anything from Vardamar. He is...rather stern and sometimes impatient. I fear I would not thrive under his tutelage. As for Thinruth, well, I fear he would merely spend the time trying to convince me to change my dress. You see," – he swept his hand over his immaculate uniform that was a far cry from what Thinruth would have worn indeed – "our tastes differ even on the matter of how a king's butler should dress. And besides," he continued with a sigh, "I saw how you fought with Master Tanglinna. You are very good and very patient, well, one would have to be, hm, to put up with his very, um, martial fighting style." A timid smile came to his face. "Hack and bash and all that. No elegance, but then he wielded the sword in battle, not for fun, and I do want to look like I know what I am doing."

He looked so miserable again that I would not have had the heart to send him away even if his case had been far more hopeless than he made it sound. I was not certain if the king would be pleased that the wicked Noldorin thief was about to wield a weapon in his forest, but perhaps, he would never find out, and even if he did, Galion and I could certainly convince him that I had meant no harm.

So I smiled encouragingly and decided: "We can at least try. If you come to the clearing by M- -" – well, Mordil's – "Master Tanglinna's house this evening after dinner, we can have a first lesson." Actually, I was beginning to look forward to this unexpected opportunity at a bit of swordplay, even though I knew I would probably have to be patient with the butler indeed. "But, Master Galion? I may sound like Thinruth now, but you should wear something else when fencing. One tends to get dirty and sweaty, and there can always be small accidents... I would hate to ruin your... official attire."

Galion laughed, as much with relief as with amusement. "Oh, I know that, Master Alagaith. Never fear, I shall come suitably attired...and I will procure some weapons. Thank you so very much!" Clasping my hand, he gave me a happy smile, and I concluded that I would at least have an eager student, if not the most talented or self-assured one Mirkwood had to offer.

"Until this evening, then... - Oh, but can you tell me where I might find young Brethil? I just remember I... have a message for him." This was not entirely a lie, as I meant to ask these young fools if they were guilty of what Galion suspected them of indeed and, if so, to tell them that what they had done to the butler had been less than kind. Brethil was the one of them who seemed most capable of compassion and some measure of empathy, and so, I hoped I would be able to make him understand that this seemingly harmless prank had undercurrents of inflicting serious ridicule and humiliation to someone who had not done anything to deserve being turned into laughingstock.

If Galion suspected what I had in mind, he did not disapprove. "Brethil, hm? Well, I saw the three of them headed for grove near the river...I believe they were...well, what they are usually doing. Young ladies or wicked plans, hm?" He smiled. "Until this evening then." With this, he actually bowed slightly, a gesture that surprised and pleased me almost more than his request, and hurried away.

Still smiling at this unexpected kindness, I bent down to gather up the gardening tools and moved to put them away in the small cave where they were kept. I could return later to finish my work here. First, I would do what had to be done and talk some sense into these imbecile younglings, hopefully without finding myself forced to grab the prince by the collar to shake him; Thranduil would hardly have approved of that.

The grove near the river, lush and green at this time of the year, resounded with the clatter of wooden sticks. All three of the young elves were there indeed, Tavor involved in a mock duel with Legolas, while Brethil was watching calling encouragements to them both.

Seen from afar, they almost seemed like elflings at play, not like young warriors who had already seen at least one grim battle, but I did not intend to let the fact that they could look quite endearing deter me.

"Your posture is sorely lacking, Master Tavor," I called instead as I strode towards them. "An Orcish scimitarman would have cut off your nose by now."

Apparently, they had not heard me approach before I had made my presence known, for all three of them were startled, none more than Tavor, who was surprised enough to let down his guard completely, unfortunately at the wrong time, for Legolas – astonished as well – did not halt the movement of his stick in time. With a satisfying thud, it collided with Tavor's nose.

Tavor seemed to be more outraged than damaged, and his angry cry of "Legolas!" actually made me grin a bit as soon as I was certain that both of his eyes were still in place.

Both of Tavor's companions were more worried than I was and had moved to stand beside him. "I am sorry, Tavor," Legolas proclaimed before turning to look at me. "Is something wrong, um, Master Alagaith?" At least he was a polite princeling.

I moved another step towards them. "Yes, something is wrong indeed." Folding my arms, I surveyed the three of them, hoping that I managed to copy my father's most impressive 'stern Noldorin warrior' glare, or even to enhance it by the fact that I had only one eye left and could look a bit daunting at the best of times. "And I am not talking about your questionable sword fighting skills."

The whack on his nose had obviously not been enough to teach Tavor some humility. "Questionable? Questionable?" He puffed up. "My skills are not questionable. You merely...startled me and I .. I faltered."

"You were already faltering, Tavor," Brethil reminded him, probably rather too honestly for Tavor's taste.

Legolas sighed. "What is wrong, ah, Master Alagaith?"

For one moment, I was almost swayed by his tone of innocent sincerity; perhaps Galion had been mistaken, and they were not the perpetrators at all? Valar knew I had been suspected of misdeeds I had never committed entirely too often, so perhaps, I was wronging these younglings now as I had often been wronged? But then, I also knew one could look innocent if one was not, and asking could not hurt. "It would appear you put your skills with a quill to ill use not long ago. Would you happen to remember that - signing a name that is not your own?"

All three of them frowned and exchanged puzzled glances that could have fooled me, but then, Tavor smiled a bit, and Brethil's eyes suddenly widened. "Oh," he began. "You mean putting Master Galion's name on the list of competitors, don't you? I told you, Legolas, that was not very nice. If Galion had wished to enter then he would have placed his own name on the list."

Tavor sighed in exasperation. "He is a...tolerable fighter, Brethil. We were...doing him a favor." I wondered if they had used this excuse to talk Brethil into taking part in their scheme in the first place.

Legolas remained silent for a moment, looking more concerned than his two companions. When he finally spoke, he sounded resigned, as if he knew what was coming. "I suppose you wish me to tell my father to remove Galion's name...only," – a pained look entered his face – "I suppose the Swordmasters have the list now, and I don't think that Master Vardamar will be very ...happy...with us or Galion if..." He had the grace to look ashamed, and I almost felt sorry for the pranksters. They were rather thoughtless than truly wicked, and I could not imagine that they had meant Galion any real harm.

"If my name has to stay on there so does his," Tavor muttered, looking mildly upset; perhaps he thought that I was about to remove the one person he could probably beat from the list.

I sighed a bit, feeling that the anger with which I had set out to growl at them was fading quickly. "I am not going to tell on you, if this is what you fear. However, I hope you are aware of the consequences of your childish prank, more worthy of elflings barely in their twenties than of young warriors. I know that, at your age, it is easy to be foolish and thoughtless and to assume that those who are neither esteemed warriors nor fair maidens have no pride and honour that can be hurt, but rest assured, it is not so."

All three managed to look abashed. Tavor was dragging his stick over the grass, not meeting my gaze, while Brethil finally nodded. "We are too old to be as foolish as we are," he agreed, sounding sincere, even though I suspected that this moment of common sense would only last until the next opportunity at mischief presented itself.

Legolas looked as if he were not feeling well at all, and perhaps he was not; he was the king's son, after all, and should have exhibited some maturity and noble-mindedness instead of getting into this kind of trouble. "We will apologize to Galion, Master Alagaith. But," he glanced at his companions, "what should we do? Do we go to Vardamar ourselves and... tell him that Galion did not put his name on the list? He might be more inclined to be gracious to Galion if the truth were known."

"You can certainly try to do so." I shrugged; I would not have liked to face an enraged Vardamar myself, and these three were still young enough to remember the swordmaster as someone in authority over them who had probably taught them not so long ago. "Or, of course, you could just steal the list and burn it... But in any case, I believe it may already be too late. If I were you, Master Tavor, I would just hone my swordfighting skills... and cry for the Valar's assistance."

I was probably grinning rather too much, but after having seen Tavor's comparatively meagre prowess with a sword, I was not so uncertain any more that I could turn Galion into a fighter able to beat at least one or two of the other contestants.

Tavor looked aghast, but Brethil nodded, as if my veiled predictions did not surprise him at all. "Galion will do quite well. He did slay that warg single-handedly when Master Tanglinna was wounded and helpless, and they were lost in the snow. Though I find it hard to believe that Master Tanglinna was helpless." Now, this was an interesting story; I would have to ask Mordil about it when he was back.

Tavor snorted a bit. "He appeared helpless when he was fighting Master Alagaith," he said with a smirk, but it was short-lived enough, and he sighed. "As helpless as I will look. My daernaneth will be so embarrassed by me. I know she put my name on that list." He looked very unhappy now, less happy than the unfortunate victim of their prank, even, and it was hard to abstain from giving him a comforting hug.

"You just need practice, Tavor," Legolas reassured him, "and Brethil and I will help you."

Tavor, fingering his abused nose, shot him a black look. "Some help you have been so far."

Legolas probably considered it wiser not to pursue the subject any further. Instead, he turned to look at me, a frown marring his fair brow. "How did you know we put Galion's name on the list?"

Perhaps he was merely curious, but I was not going to tell him that a desperate butler had come to me for help. "So you believed you would not be found out? You have much to learn if you want to become good forgers..." I shook my head a little and gazed at Tavor then. "And, no, I do not wish to hear just why you chose to inflict the embarrassment you seem to have suffered yourself upon an unsuspecting person. If it was to have a harmless opponent, it would not cause me to think very highly of you."

'And if you had not been unkind enough to torment a poor old butler, I might have offered to help _you_', I finished, but only in my thoughts; saying so aloud would have been just as cruel as their prank.

It has been said that I should no longer make the yearly pilgrimage to the south and more think it than say it for it shows in their eyes. Thranduil has mentioned it, in a most casual manner knowing that I will go regardless of what he says. He will never make it a command for he does not wish to argue with me…not over this.

Arasceleg is tactful but straightforward about it, not mincing words as that is not his way. And Vardamar, well, he is always blunt, but then it is usually when we are polishing off a second bottle of Combe, not an excellent wine by any standards but potent which suited our purpose. He will tell me that I am beyond foolish and my family would not wish me to hold onto the pain of losing them for so long.

Perhaps they are right, yet every spring I find myself traveling for the mountains in the southeast.

Now I can add Linlote to the list of people that are concerned about this. He has said nothing to me…yet, but I could see it in his eye as I packed the few things I would take with me, and his words of farewell were kind but guarded.

And while he may not entirely approve of this, I believe he was relieved to see me go, just as I was relieved to go. We both needed time away from one another after the winter months of being together all day and all night. Being a gaoler is not a fun job, not for the 'gaoler' or the 'prisoner'. We were both chaffing under the confinement.

I have lived alone for so long, having grown used to the solitude and the quiet order of day-to-day life, and in turn, Linlote, Alagaer, and Alagant were used to living with a large extended family consisting of Uncle Gwin, Aunt Fin, and Uncle Seven, and others over the years. Their family was reduced now as mine had grown, and well, it had not been easy for any of us to live in such close quarters. Living with Noldor is never an easy thing.

Oddly enough all I could think of as I hastened home was that I hoped Linlote was not in the dungeon again, not that I thought he would do anything to merit such a punishment, but things were…delicate right now and I suppose it would depend on whom was watching him while I was away.

As I neared Gladaran Thamas, I was met with calls of greeting and not a few looks of pity and relief. Some must still think I might never return. I answered them all, trying to smile at them but hastened on as quickly as I could. My goal was to speak with the king, tell him that I was back and ready to take over my duties again. Heledir was in charge of my little pupils and I admit that I was looking forward to the archery lessons with them once more, though I do not know if they would be as glad to see me as I would be to see them. Laureahiril's son is not as strict with them as I am though much of my harshness came from the worry I felt should one of them die or be wounded due to my failure to teach them what they needed to know to survive.

Unfortunately as I crossed the bridge, I could see that there was a great crowd of people already gathered there, and I slowed my pace wondering what could have happened. I was weary from the long journey I had just returned from and wanted nothing more than to get to Thranduil, go home hoping all was as it should be there, and then eat something, a bath might be in order as well. Undoubtedly seeing the king was going to take longer than it should or that I would have liked. Suppressing a sigh, and wondering if I could manage to sneak past those who obviously had an appointment with Thranduil and finish my quick business with him, I moved toward the group, unbraiding my hair, running my fingers through it and swiftly re-braiding it. At least my hair would be presentable.

Ah. Rivendell. I smiled a bit.

Yes, the visitors were dressed in the blues and greys favored by people of Elrond's realm, their horses manes braided with blue ribbons and bells, and I could now tell that it was Glorfindel near the palace speaking with someone, his golden hair giving him away instantly.

'I wonder what they want,' I thought suppressing yet another sigh. More delays. They were clearly their mission was more important than mine, so I would be the one to sit and wait. Perhaps I could just come back later. If no one noticed me then….

But that was not to be.

"Well met, Master Tanglinna! I had not hoped to see you quite that soon, with this great debate about a proper entry into your king's hall going on."

The voice was merry and I gazed at the Noldorin elf that moved to stand before me, eyes shining brightly, smiling in a friendly manner. Obviously he knew who I was, and he did look familiar to me, so I smiled back, hoping that my frantic searching as I dug for his name in my memory was not too obvious.

Though they had traveled far over the Misty Mountains in early spring when the roads were undoubtedly not as good as they would be if they had waited a few more weeks, this elf did not look as rumpled and travel-worn as I felt I did. I suspected he was always nearly immaculate. Some people are like that. His dark hair was neatly braided, his clothing looking fairly fresh, face and hands clean.

He continued to study me, smiling kindly, and slowly a name surfaced and with it my first memory of him.

It had been at Dagorlad inside Oropher's tent where Thranduil had laid out his father's body on the humble camp cot, wrapped in his bloodstained green cloak. That had not been a pleasant time, and perhaps that is what colored my feelings for this elf who had accompanied Gil-Galad and the others that had come to offer their condolences for the loss of our king, condolences and a warning that there was not to be a repeat of 'Oropher's Charge' as one of them snidely called it. My jaw tightened recalling this.

It had not been this elf though he had remained after the others had left. No, this elf had said that he found Oropher to be brave, and saw his headlong rush before the orders were given as valiant. "He actually did what the rest of us wanted to do in our hearts but were too cowardly to do," I believe were his words. Bold words really. Thranduil had thanked him, looking grateful after the mild tongue-lashing given to him by our esteemed 'leader' Gil-galad.

I had not been as impressed, but then I will admit that I was perhaps not in the most gracious mood that night. Having just lost my best friend so soon after losing my family… no one's words no matter how kindly meant or heartfelt would have moved me.

"Good day to you," I began, "Master Eliant, isn't it?" I smiled though I was not in the humor to exchange banal pleasantries, but I did owe this elf at least this much for saying what Thranduil had needed to hear all those years ago. "What brings such a merry party to Thranduil's hall and pray, what debate? Thranduil has not refused you entry has he?"

Hm, I did not sound too displeased that I was being delayed though the words did not sound like me at all. Hmph! I sounded like some dandyish courtier. I pushed the image of Linlote languishing in the dungeon from my head. No one had said anything about his being in trouble, so perhaps all was well on that front and the delay would not be too costly.

Eliant of Rivendell chuckled, his eyes dancing with amusement.

"I would not hope so," he said lightly, but then his expression grew serious and filled with concern. "Around Yuletide, we received word of the great battle you have fought and won, and so, it was decided that a visit would be in order as soon as the weather permitted it. I am glad to find you so well."

I cocked one brow at this. He hardly knew me at all; we had perhaps seen me half a dozen times since Dagorlad, so why would he really 'be glad' to find me so well? But he looked sincere all the same, and I silently berated myself for such unworthy thoughts. He was being kind and I was being suspicious; ridiculous and indeed undeserved thoughts on my part.

All the same thoughts of battle, any battle including our most recent one, were not what I wished to dwell on just now. Perhaps if I had not been returning from the south where the past lived more strongly than the present, I would not have been so brusque, but I could feel one of my 'bad days' as they have been called, coming on if this conversation continued, and wishing to chase those black feelings away, I was going to avoid this discussion as much as was possible even if I appeared rude, something that had never stopped me before. Only…these were guests….

"Yes, the battle," I began trying to sound as normal as possible and not like I wished to be anywhere else but here. "Fought and won as you say though we had plenty of help." Plenty of help and confusion as enemies became allies. But no help from Rivendell….I could feel my lips curving into a smirk, which was not called for just now. Rivendell could not even know of the events happening here east of the mountains. Undoubtedly Mithrandir had told Elrond what had happened, and now he had sent this group to make certain all was well with us. Truly, I should learn not to think the worst of everyone.

"I am certain Thranduil will regale you with the details, or his loremaster will or maybe Talagan will sing you the song he has written about it. I understand it is quite good," I continued in a lighthearted voice. Yes, let someone else do the telling. I was not in the mood, and all battles were basically the same: sorrow and loss, death and pain, the names of the dead sung to the stars and prayers offered for the wounded and the slain. No, I was not the one to tell any heroic tales about the battle on Erebor's slopes. Not just now. "How was your journey?" I asked, sounding solicitous, though perhaps a bit forced. "I hope it was a fair one and not too harsh."

Clearly I am too easy to read for Eliant smiled.

"It was a most uneventful journey – at least, not eventful enough to force you to listen to a lengthy tale now. You seem to be returning from a journey yourself," his eyes swept over my somewhat bedraggled appearance, "and I would hate to bore you any longer with my idle prattling."

He smiled again to show me there were no hard feelings between us. He is quite a fine fellow to let me go like this, knowing I did not wish to linger here any longer. Perhaps I had misjudged him all those years ago when I found him a bit too fawning in his dealing with Thranduil. He had probably been quite sincere at the time and I had been to hurt and angry to notice.

I smiled ruefully at Eliant, and tipped my head.

"I apologize. I am just returned as you have guessed and am quite weary." That was very true, and any longer conversation would have exhausted me. If I had continued to stand here, trying to seem interested in something that I really was not interested in, would only fray my temper. I am not as good at these courtly games as others are; lack of practice no doubt, lack of desire. "I will leave you and your party to your…welcome and hope that things are," I glanced up to see Glorfindel talking urgently to someone, one of the guardians of the doors it looked like, "straightened out soon."

Pressing my hand to my heart, I backed away continuing to smile, quite glad for the reprieve. He was still smiling and I turned, determined to see Thranduil much later, perhaps even the next morning. He was going to have his hands full with the visitors for some time. Besides, I had to make certain all was well at home.

Please let all be well, I prayed silently as I hastened back across the bridge to my little house.

TBC

Authors' Note: Sorry for the tardiness of this chapter. ;)


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: They belong to Tolkien…mostly. ;)

Thank you to our loyal readers who have been so very patient with us. :)

Chapter 4 – An Invited Guest Arrives

I am not in the habit of giving dinner parties, and I will be the first to say that I prefer my solitary life and do not enjoy exerting myself in the name of being social; it would be false to pretend otherwise If I invite anyone to my house it is usually Vardamar. We have a quiet supper, much wine, and sometimes good, vociferous, ferocious arguments, which we both seem to enjoy from time to time, and we will both feel better afterwards.

Heledir will come to visit when there are things to discuss concerning our budding archers, and Thranduil will occasionally find himself at my doorstep for a glass of wine – occasionally he will be bearing the bottle himself - and talk, usually reminiscing about things long past and fondly recalled. Yet even these are never formal dinner parties, but a time spent with friends and companions.

So it was rather strange and disconcerting to realize that I had invited someone I did not know to come and dine at my house.

I do not know what prompted me to extend the invitation, though it had something to do with Alagaith and his family. It was a momentary weakness, a fleeting sense of wanting them to feel more at home, to feel not so isolated and different. And so I, Tanglinna Thindalagosion, invited Eliant of Rivendell to dinner.

'They will be happy,' I had thought, "to have another Noldo to converse with, someone more like them. They would have so much in common. It will perhaps make them happy.'

Of course, after the fact, I realized what I had done: invited a Noldo I did not know or particularly like to dinner at my house.

Alagaer stood by the stove, stirring a pot of soup or stew using herbs in an unusual way; the aroma, once combined with the stock was quite unfamiliar to me. This probably meant we were to have Noldorin soup, probably a very popular dish in days gone by, days in Nargothrond or Eregion in Ages past…or in Rivendell in our own Age. Appropriate I suppose, and undoubtedly very good…or so I hoped.

Linlote was proving his skill with a blade, evenly cutting slices of freshly baked bread that was flavoured with rosemary, which I knew would be good as I had baked it in the afternoon before Alagaer needed the stove. There is something to be said of familiarity breeding comfort. Even Alagant was involved in this torturous process and was arranging what flowers the season had to offer. He had picked golden daffodils and bright delicately coloured tulips, and even found some lilac blooms and glistening ivy.

I was fretting, yes, fretting, over the table settings and I had my father-in-law to blame for that. I recall on the first time he had been invited to dine at my house along with Celair when I had made my interest in her too well known to him and he had commented, not to me but to her in a voice that I could hear quite clearly, that I was uncivilized and did not know how to set a table properly. I did not know why he said this as I thought my table had looked quite nice and proper. Then he had turned his blue eyes to me and began to expostulate on exactly what I had done wrong.

"The knives must be placed _thus_," he had said, taking up one of my humble knives from the right side of the plate and placing it across the top of the plate and nodding. "The napkins must be folded _this_ way." He fiddled with the napkins then. "And the glasses." He had shaken his head in exasperation and moved all three of them, no more than the length of a finger joint. Needless to say, I was agonizing over the placement of knives, the folding of the napkins, and now measuring the spacing between glass and plate with my fingers.

Whom I was trying to impress…well, I did not know, but I wanted things to go well, not for my sake, for I would never have invited this elf over for dinner if it had just me, but I did want it to go well for Linlote's sake. I wanted him to be happy and content as I knew his life here had not been what anyone would term easy or comfortable. Scrubbing steps or digging weeds, while not hard or taxing in themselves, were jobs done by servants not warriors, and while Linlote might not have been a warrior in his recent life, he had been before if his skill with the sword was a testament to his early life, and surely these menial jobs chafed his spirit.

"Is it good like this, Master Tanglinna?"

I looked up to find Alagant watching me, his eyes solemn yet excited as he indicated his floral arrangement. I know he was anticipating having a dinner guest, and I knew I had been remiss indeed in not giving the child or his father or grandfather the society they perhaps craved. I had forced my well-ordered, and probably to them, dull lifestyle on them and not realized I was doing them a disservice by being so solitary. I would have to amend that.

I gazed at the flowers arrayed so artfully in a vase, a veritable study of spring's pastels and sweet scents that spoke so clearly of the goodness of Arda and its changing seasons. Spring flowers are more magical than any others for they were a testament to new life, new beginnings, fresh and beautiful, all the possibilities of life are laid before you as you look at them.

"It looks quite wonderful, Master Alagant. I could not have done it better myself." Which was quite true. I had not arranged flowers for anyone since Celair had died though I had taken great pleasure doing so when she was alive and had delighted in such things.

The flowers were perfect, the bread was perfect, so evenly sliced and placed on wooden platter with a line of trailing vines carved around its edge, the dishes and glasses were just as they should be, measured too perfection, and the soup….

"What exactly is in your soup, Master Alagaer?" I asked him politely, though I wanted to know so there were no unexpected culinary surprises.

My efforts to sound nonchalant failed as Alagaer frowned formidably making him look exactly like Riwmegor at his disapproving worst.

"You saw me chop the carrots, didn't you?" he rejoined with a growl colouring his voice, shaking his head, the spoon that he used to stir the pot moving in a menacing manner if such a thing is possible. "And you know that the mixture of spices put in there is known as 'Orome's Delight'?"

'Orome's Delight?' I thought, feeling a frown cross my own face, then rapidly controlled an inappropriate smile as I recalled that once there was a trio of younglings who once feared I was Orome in disguise. Nor did I ask if that was why I had to go borrow some spices from Laureahiril, our own resident Noldorin matriarch.

Suddenly Linlote sighed and gazed at his father, mild exasperation written across his features.

"I suspect Mordil does _not_ know the exact recipe," he defended, and Alagaer sighed as well, looking quite sorry for himself as if he were being put upon by this prattling wood-elf archer. Yes, he looked just as Riwmegor did when Celair had defended me to him over some ridiculous issue. Clearly these old and grouchy Noldor were all alike. They appeared to think they knew absolutely everything and were the Valar's chosen gift to we lesser beings who know nothing at all about anything and must be enlightened, and oh, what a wearying task it must be.

And Alagaer proceeded to prove just this.

"Very well, listen then…" And a string of ingredients broke forth from his lips. I am surprised that he did not need to explain exactly how small to chop the potatoes or the exact measurement of 'the slightest bit of salt'

I cocked one brow as I listened to him. Did I not decide to invite this Eliant of Rivendell because of them? Had I not done this with purely unselfish motives? But no matter. I let him ramble on until the list ran out and I said, "It sounds very…." I wanted to say "Noldorin" but settled for "delicious." I am certain it would be. Alagaer clearly knew what he was doing with the soup, but….

"You …you will be nice to him, won't you?" I said, directing this blunt question at Alagaer, who could be perfectly nice…or perfectly not nice if he so chose. I was prepared to duck anything he might throw at me, recalling quite clearly the night that Riwmegor had thrown a bowl of salad at my head during dinner once and with less provocation.

But Alagaer lifted one haughty brow and said, "Why would you ask, Master Tanglinna? Do you believe I cannot behave myself, if it must be? I have not been a destitute vagabond all my life…."

I never meant to imply that he had, but before I could apologize, he lifted one hand solemnly, saying in a serious tone, "I will be nice to our guest, this I swear, Eru Himself be my witness."

I was stunned that he would make such a serious vow over something so very trivial when a simple "Yes, I will be nice" would have sufficed. But then he grinned, turning back to his soup and I did not know what to think, but mumbled a heartfelt "Thank you."

I sincerely hoped this Eliant was worthy of all the concessions we were making. But then he was a hero, was he not? I smiled to myself for I had recalled that I had actually seen Eliant much earlier than Dagorlad; it had been in Doriath just after the fall of Nargothrond. He had led a ragged band of survivors from the bloody fields of Tumhalad where Orodreth had been slain and so many elves had died before the fury of Angband and fire of Glaurung, forefather of our own Smaug so recently laid to rest beneath the lake of Esgaroth.

Eliant certainly could tell a grand tale of bravery and woe, one he had seen first hand. He had seemed eloquent and heroic to me though I admit to being an impressionable child at the time. Perhaps he would regale us with that. Alagant would be impressed…with the dragon at least for that is the part I recalled him telling.

"I know everything will go quite… well this evening," I continued, telling this to reassure myself as well as the others. My little house built for one was going to have four Noldor in it, and that would make it seem impossibly full, and undoubtedly the 'uncivilized wood-elf' that I was would make breech some point of etiquette, and I wondered what passed for polite, civilized dinner conversation to these elves.

I looked at Linlote and then at Alagaer and ventured to ask "Is there…any special…order of conversation among you, ah, among the Noldorin elves that I should be aware of?"

Alagaith stared at me for a moment, wiping off the bread knife with a clean towel, and then he chuckled.

"Oh, Mordil," he said, shaking his head in obvious amusement. It will not be very helpful if you try to do some stilted Noldo impersonation. Just be yourself. You are very presentable just as you are."

Hmph. That is not what I have been told, but really, I should stop listening to the voice of my dead father-in-law as he was not being very helpful, he never had been. Just be myself.

Alagaer had looked up from his soup, and I was certain he was going to contradict his son, but….

"If I have not been provoked into the next kinslaying by you, a polite stranger probably will not be too shocked either."

I pressed my lips together to prevent them from opening in a snarl, though I did glare at him. Always these polite insults! If _I_ had not been provoked into the next kinslaying by _him…._ I drew a calming breath. Now was definitely not the time to think on kinslaying!

"Very well," I said tightly. "I can be polite."

This remark was directed at that infuriating son of a warg named Alagaer, and I was determined not to let him provoke me into saying something I would regret later. Or throwing the bread knife at him….

"Do you need any help?"

I felt I needed to do something with my hands or I might start to wring them. Something would go wrong, just what that might be I did not know, but something would go wrong. It was probably because I was not used to entertaining guests in my home. I would be glad when this evening was over and things could go back to the way they were supposed to be.

Alagaer shrugged, quite unconcerned. "You can help Alagant set the plates, I suppose."

Set the plates? I looked at the table. What was wrong with the way I had set the plates? Shaking my head, I began to measure the distance between glasses and plates once more, wondering if perhaps each set of Noldor had their own rules about this sort of thing. "In Tirion we set the plates thus…."

"I do not know why I did this," I said, directing my words at Linlote, and not meaning the arrangement of place settings. I wanted them to know _why_ I had invited Eliant of Rivendell to dinner. 'I guess," I said with a faint smile, "I hoped that you would be happy with someone…well, more like yourselves." Probably yet another grouchy Noldo if I was unlucky enough.

Linlote looked startled by this sentiment, and then moved to stand beside me, placing both his hands on my shoulders.

"That is very kind of you, and you know we are all very grateful. But, rest assured, we _are_ happy here, even without a Noldorin invasion destroying the peace of your evening."

I wanted to believe they were happy here, but I knew that was not entirely true. I still thought that one day I would find them gone, having packed their few things and left, maybe returning to Esgaroth to their real family and friends where life would be simpler and perhaps better. But I was grateful that not all Noldo were as grouchy as others.

Alagant joined his father, gently touching my hand, and looking, well, his look was hard to read, but it was not the look I would have expected. Even Alagaer tried to reassure me.

"If it was my…occasional harshness that causes you to believe that we were not happy here, I apologize. While this has not been easy for any of us," he said with awry smile for no, it had not been easy on any of us, "we are fully aware how much you have done for us, braving your king's wrath at first, and then sacrificing your privacy."

And before I could begin to frame a suitable response, Alagant added, "Shall we tell the guest to go away again?"

I smiled ruefully for now they were trying very hard to make me happy, and this was not necessary.

"No," I said though I wanted nothing more than a quiet evening alone with them and not with some stranger sitting in our midst. "Not unless you do not want him here…No. I suppose it would be rude to uninvited him at this point, so he will be endured. But," I cocked one brow, trying to lighten the mood, "do not expect this every night."

No, there would not be new and interesting guests paraded in and out of my house for anyone…not every night, but perhaps a few.

There was a knock at the door, and I turned. Our guest had arrived.

"Good evening, Master Tanglinna."

This voice, accompanied by the rustle of clothes that indicated that the speaker was bowing politely even as he uttered his greeting, told me who our surprise guest was to be and sent a shudder up my spine. It was a suave, melodious voice, the velvet sheath of a sword of steel, apt to fool almost everyone into believing that its owner was just as douce and kind.

It had probably fooled Tanglinna even earlier, or he would never have invited this elf. "Good evening to you as well. You are just on time. Please come in."

Until he moved aside to invite the Noldorin guest in, I had still clung to a faint bit of hope that I had been mistaken when I had thought I recognized this particular timbre and manner of speech, but now, my terrible suspicion was confirmed, as Eliant of Nargothrond stepped over the threshold.

Sleek and elegant as ever, the very epitome of the style and grace poor Thinruth strove to imitate, he had not changed at all. Even the blue and grey hues of Elrond's household resembled the colours Eliant had already preferred back in Nargothrond. Only his hair, still rich and dark, was not woven into the three austere, if practical, braids of the Nargothrond warriors any more, but worn after the very latest fashion, whimsical little braids framing sharp, fine features while the rest of the hair was left to spill over his silk-clad shoulders in an equally silken curtain.

Alagant, who could not know who this stranger was, bowed politely as he had been taught, but both my father and I had frozen, staring at Eliant in all his glory as if he were an apparition, an eldritch ghost risen from a past long forgotten… And, in a way, he was.

"And you swore..." I found myself murmuring under the breath.

If my father's expression was anything to judge by, he recalled only too clearly that he had called upon the One Himself to witness his foolish oath; he could not take it back now, even though I suspected that he would have preferred to become both an oathbreaker and a kinslayer within the next few moments.

"What a surprise," he finally managed with a rather forced smile. "Good evening, Eliant."

He did bow then, and remembering my manners, I followed suit, hoping that my face was not giving away what it felt like to bow to Eliant – to _Eliant_! – and to remain at least superficially courteous. The scar beneath my eye patch was suddenly aching, as if it remembered as well what it had been like when I had last spoken to Eliant, dragged before him in fetters, like an evildoer… Like a traitor.

At least, Eliant looked stunned as well for half a heartbeat, but this expression only touched his eyes. He never lost his entire composure, and when he spoke, his voice was calm and guarded, and ever so polite. "Well," he began, "This is an unexpected...surprise."

By now, even Tanglinna who had closed the door and moved to join us sensed that something was wrong. "Ah, you...know one another?" He tried to smile, but failed, and for a moment, I pitied him almost more than myself. Here he was, meaning to offer us a special treat, an evening in pleasant company, and obviously, we did not appreciate the result of his efforts at all! "Um, please, make yourself at home, Master Eliant. I have some Dorwinion here somewhere."

When he moved to find the prized wine he meant to sacrifice in order to save the evening after its ill start, he tried a bit too hard not to study us all.

Alagant was even less able to mask what was going on in his head. Upon hearing the name of 'Eliant', a shocked look had entered his face, and I knew he would have loved to hide. This was a villain of ancient tales sprung to life before him, a reminder that the stories his _daerada_ and _ada_ had told him were not just fanciful inventions, but all too real and grim.

My father placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I believe you have not met my grandson Alagant yet, Eliant?"

Studying my son, Eliant smiled, but it was a smile tempered by wariness; I could almost see him think _'Yet another one, hm?'_ "Master Alagant. I am pleased to meet you."

Alagant could not force himself to smile, but he inclined his head politely. "The pleasure is mine, Master Eliant," he lied, adding more truthfully: "I have heard much about you already."

If he had been older, this could have sounded more like the serious threat it was, but judging by the gleam in his eyes, Eliant recognized it for what it was, anyway. The battle had begun, and Eliant chose to answer in a very Nargothrondian manner, not leading an open attack straightaway, but retreating to shoot a hidden little arrow. "You have a very nice house, Master Tanglinna. It was kind of you to invite your...friends over to meet me."

Tanglinna interrupted his task of pouring the wine to stare at the four of us, and I could tell that his patience with our silly games was waning quickly. "I had not realized that you knew Master Eliant, Alagaith," he said, and while his expression was carefully neutral, I was aware he expected me to explain what was going on.

I was more than grateful that he had not called me 'Linlote' in front of Eliant. "Eliant is an old acquaintance of ours from Nargothrond. He was my father's friend, and a fellow captain."

I hoped that he had realized that I had spoken in the past tense; and some 'friend' Eliant had been indeed!. "As you never mentioned the name of your surprise guest, I could hardly tell you we knew him," I finished with a strained smile and wondered if I should just take the bread knife, ram it into Eliant's back and be done with this farce once and for all.

Tanglinna's face looked a bit too tight for comfort. "You are right. I was remiss. There must be quite a bit for the three of you to talk about then, hm?" He lifted a brow. "Nargothrond, hm? That was some time ago."

Eliant lifted his chin slightly, sensing the opportunity for a stealthy attack. "A very long time ago indeed. Pray, what have you been up to, Alagaith? What has landed you here?"

I gazed at Tanglinna, hoping that he would read the silent plea not to give me away in my eye – and also hoping that he or others had not already done so and mentioned the one-eyed Noldorin thief to the Rivendell elves. The sleeves of my tunic were long enough to hide the shameful mark that tied dishonour to my flesh, but that was of little use if Eliant already new something. "I met some wood-elves shortly after a recent battle and, given that my wife had been a wood-elf as well, the thought to move to Mirkwood seemed appealing."

Tanglinna's brow rose yet again at this half-truth, but he said nothing, merely folding his arms over his chest, deciding to be a silent observer of this conversation for now.

However, his reaction had not escaped Eliant, who continued to press the subject. "Wife? Had been? My condolences. How do you find life here in Mirkwood? A great change, isn't it?"

We had settled down around the table by then, and my father, who served the soup, decided to intervene. "Oh, it is most peaceful and pleasant here, not counting the occasional orc or angry spider." His smile was as false as kind. "Not as sophisticated as Rivendell, where you opted to live, as I understand, but agreeably unpretentious."

I wondered if I was only imagining that Eliant's inscrutable face had paled a little at these words. "Yes, it is very...rustic here, isn't it. The people seem kind enough, though perhaps a bit more... innocent than I am used to."

"Innocence once lost is hard to regain and harder to feign," I remarked, not referring to myself, or at least not entirely.

Eliant ignored my statement. "I am pleased that you appear to be doing so well. So," he gazed at one of his elegant hands as he talked, unwilling to meet my gaze, "So this is where you have decided to...reform your life? Thranduil is most...forgiving."

And thus, the trap snapped shut. I could hardly deny that I was 'reforming my life', but I was certainly not atoning for the crime Eliant alluded to, the one I had never committed. I could either reveal to Eliant that I had been a thief, or admit to Mordil that I had been accused of treason… The Valar were certainly punishing me for my wicked thought in regard to the bread knife, were they not?

"He is a good and wise king," I finally said, not admitting to anything, but not denying that I was in need of some reformation, either. Contemplating my soup, I prayed that someone, _anyone_, would change the subject now.

But of course, this was not to be. Tanglinna's fingers had tightened on his spoon, very much as if it were a sword he could 'hack and bash' with; his glare was angry enough to let me suspect that he would have liked to do just that. "Is there something I should know?" He was addressing me, in a way he had never spoken to me before, and I felt my heart grow cold at this voice; was he mistaking me for a wayward youngling pulling childish pranks during his archery class? "Alagaith is doing very well here, Master Eliant," he continued, still looking at me with raised brows. "It is kind of you to notice."

Ah, thank you, Mordil, for perfecting my utter humiliation. If I survived this evening, I would pack my things and move to Laketown, that much was certain…

Eliant simply shrugged and smiled, sipping his soup. "This is very tasty. Yours, Master Alagaer, I assume?"

My father nodded, grasping the chance to steer the conversation into safer waters. "It is indeed; you would recognize it, of course. How long has it been since we last dined together?"

I did not remember, but I knew that it had been _before_ Eliant's actions had caused my father to end up a prisoner in Morgoth's mines.

Eliant was aware of that as well. "It has been...too long." His smile was a bit condescending now. "Where have you been all these long years? Surely not here in Mirkwood."

There we were again.

My father's face would probably go numb with all the forced smiling he did this evening. "Travelling, living hear and there... As you know, when I left Nargothrond, I planned to search for my lost son, and it took me ages to find him. Literally."

Tanglinna was frowning now, but did not say anything yet. I hoped he would remain silent for a very long time.

Eliant gladly pursued his chosen subject. "Wherever did you end up finding him?"

"We happened to be fishing on the very same river," I said; this was not exactly a lie, even though 'trying to steal from the very same fishtrap' would have been more accurate. "A Valar-sent coincidence, one might say, and a pleasant surprise after all that had happened." I could just as well have said _'After all that you had done to us'_, but I was not bold enough to let those words leave my lips.

"It is so...good that you are together again." Even Eliant with his honeyed tongue was not able enough a liar to hide the slight pause before 'good', but perhaps, he had not even wanted to, but had meant to deliver a threat, or a warning. "Your soup is most excellent." He smiled at my father and turned to look at me again then. "Are you a warrior here as well, Alagaith?"

That was the last straw, more than I could bear to hear out of the mouth of this atrocious creature who outwardly was what I could have been had he not shattered my life, our lives, so long ago. I considered emptying the soup bowl over his head or putting my bread knife plan to good use, after all, but these were mere thoughts. In the end, I simply answered in a perfectly calm and polite voice: "Alas, no. The deplorable circumstances in which your cruel machinations left me caused me to commit a series of mistakes that prevent me from laying claim to this title now."

Reaching for my glass, I deliberately allowed my sleeve to slide back far enough to reveal the brand; then, I downed my Dorwinion without even appreciating the excellent wine. I was not the one who had promised to behave, after all. I could tell Eliant that it was all his fault and drink myself into a state where I was bold and cruel enough to cut his throat indeed. I was so tired of it all… So tired.

Needless to say, my behaviour shocked poor Tanglinna quite a bit. He stared from me to Eliant, then to my father, and back to me, not uttering a single word. I hardly cared any more.

Some surprise shone in Eliant's eyes at seeing the brand; perhaps, he had not known about it, after all. "I see you have not changed that much then, Alagaith. Perhaps some people cannot change who or what they are."

Folding my arms, I leaned back and smiled at him, not a smile of feigned courtesy, but that of a warg in bad need of dinner. "Perhaps I did not wish to change?" No… I had not wished to change. Long ago, I had liked myself quite well… Why not complete the descent now, from honourable warrior to thief, from thief to kinslayer? The knife was right there, its blade almost silvery against the tablecloth, calling to me as the one ally I still could claim, not bound by a foolish oath, like my father, petrified by horror and confusion, like my little son…

Eliant's rather pitying smile could have driven me to doing the wrong thing now indeed, but fortunately, Tanglinna rose before anything could happen. "I am afraid I shall have to ask you to leave, Master Eliant," he firmly said, thankfully not caring if he sounded rude.

He waited while Eliant stood, not looking offended, but simply quite sorry that our nice dinner had been interrupted. He bowed very elegantly. "I am sorry that things did not go well this evening. My apologies." His exit could not have been more graceful and polite, and yet, I could have told Mordil that he had made a mortal enemy.

The door had not even fully closed when Tanglinna rounded on us, very much the angry Master Archer. "Well? Will someone tell me what this is about?" It was not a question, but a demand he seemed ready to enforce. "If there are things I need to know," he continued, "I am asking you to tell me...now."

He was met with silence, but at least, we had all remained seated around the table instead of just fleeing this house, these woods and the need to explain, as instinct would have dictated.

Then, quite unexpectedly Tanglinna's face softened a little, and when he spoke again, he sounded somewhat less angry: "What has happened, Linlote?


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5 – Chapter of Lost Tales

"What has happened, Linlote?"

I was not certain what I expected him to tell me, but when his eye flitted away, staring at anything but me, I knew this was perhaps worse than I had realized. When at last he did speak, it was in a whisper, and what he said was evasive and less than satisfying. Perhaps he did not know just how to say what needed saying.

"He turned me into what I am now."

I frowned, feeling my anger returning. What he was _now_? No, what he meant was what he had been when I found him. But I was not going to let his reluctance deter me.

"How did he do that?" I asked, my voice low, for though I knew I might have a struggle ahead of me, I did not want him to flee because I was unable to control my own impatience. I sighed a bit under my breath, the only sign that betrayed my true feelings. "Is he going to cause trouble for you? For if he is…then perhaps you should tell me what is going on, Linlote."

This was an unsettling thought. It had not been easy for Linlote to live here, treated like something less than a servant, and now someone who had known him before and knew something….Yes, it seemed like trouble to me. Just what we needed.

Alagaith nodded and finally looked up at me.

"He had me accused of treason and of trying to take my own father's life, while it was really-"

Suddenly Alagaer interrupted.

"Like this, the story will not make much sense to poor Master Tanglinna."

His face was immobile, devoid of all emotion, his eyes glacial. Only the tenseness around his eyes betrayed how hard this was for him, and I wondered just what tale these two had to tell that so clearly distressed them both. Treason? Trying to take his father's life? What nonsense was this?

"We should start at the beginning," Alagaer continued, not looking at me or at anything at all, "that is, right on the Helcaraxe, a long time ago."

I admit that my eyes widened a bit at this, not that I doubted what he said, for I could see clearly that this was not a game, not with words like treason and murder having been said. But Helcaraxe?

The Helcaraxe….Alagaer had come across the Jaws of Ice with the elves of Fingolfin and Finarfin…. The First Age seemed so long ago, and yet in the memory of elves, the past is never far from our hearts and minds. I found myself dreading what would be said, yet I wanted to know just as much as I wished I did not need to. But I _did_ need to know and so I would press them to tell me this tale if only to save them from anything that might result from Eliant's presence here in Mirkwood.

"It was there that Eliant and I became friends…or perhaps no friends, but I mistook our relationship for a fast friendship at that time." Alagaer did smile then, but it was mere quirking of his lips, one that did not reach his eyes, making his face a mask of chill marble.

"When did you learn he was not your friend?" I said when he fell silent. "Surely it was before…before he accused Linlote…." Had Eliant managed to cuckold Alagaer for that long? Some how I doubted it for I did not believe anyone could fool Linlote's adar for long, not in any situation. "Treason," I muttered. "What nonsense."

He shook his head.

"No, not before that. As I said, our story is complicated. Just listen. Back then, Eliant probably thought I was a safe choice as a friend, a silly young fool who would help and support him until the nightmare of ice and darkness was over, and who would never be a danger aftwards…Never a rival." His eyes suddenly rose to meet mine, and the honesty I saw in them stunned me. Always his words to me were couched in sarcasm or mild contempt, but now….

"I was neither a warrior then, nor of high and noble birth, but a mere scullion of Tirion caught up in the events." Again the humorless smile crossed his lips. "But things changed the day we dragged a maiden out of a crack in the ice after she had slipped and fallen. I was only too much of a fool to realize I had made an enemy."

Linlote grinned then, very faint humor in his eye. "She was my mother, you know. Not yet then, of course."

Alagaer shrugged. "He would not have cared that she chose me over him if she had not been a distant cousin of a noble lord." He lifted the neglected cup of Dorwinion and took a large swallow.

I was still frowning, trying to take it all in and make sense of it.

"All this came about because a distant cousin of some Noldorin lord chose you over Eliant?" I echoed, gazing at Alagaer, thinking that the story had the makings of a ballad. Doubtlessly, Talagan would rejoice to hear it. But one did not usually allow a romance to gall one's heart enough to accuse someone of treason and patricide. I leaned back, crossing my arms over my chest. Clearly there was more to this tale than I knew…yet. "Forgive me," I began, "and I mean no disrespect, but that seems…a trivial thing, much too unimportant for what you are telling me he did." No, there was something more indeed.

Linlote shook his head, and his words did nothing to sooth my growing unease.

"Just you wait, Mordil…This is only the beginning. The 'trivial thing' was not as trivial as you may believe, as my mother helped turn my father into a warrior….A _good _warrior, good enough to catch the attention of her relatives, and then of Lord Finrod, who would be king of Nargothrond…."

It felt rather odd the way he spoke of Finrod as someone matter-of-fact. Finrod Felagund, he who was the Friend of Men, Companion of Beren who wooed and won fair Luthien, the fodder of so many heroic and tragic tales. Not to mention brother of Galadriel, she who ruled in the Golden Wood. And _Alagaer_ had caught Finrod's attention.

I gazed at Alagaer with new eyes, eyes now opened to see beyond the irritating, grouchy Noldo, to someone he had been in an early time, a warrior, a warrior whose skill had captured the eye of Finrod, son of Finarfin. I must tell Thranduil of this! If he and Alagaer did not come to blows, then perhaps there was a place here indeed for Alagaer, and not as a kitchen worker as he once had been long ago before crossing the Ice.

"So later," Algaith continued, "my father was a captain, as was Eliant. Imagine them in the position your wood-elven captains hold, only in a court far less…."

He hesitated, and I could tell he was searching for the proper words to say, and my mouth gave a wry twist. What would he say if he were being honest in his assessment of us? Rustic? Harmless?

"A court with a stricter hierarchy than the one you are used to here," Alagaer finished very tactfully for his son, perhaps to aid Linlote in the use of what words would not offend the Master Archer. "A very Noldorin place, as you would say."

Undoubtedly I would, and I could not resist returning his slight smile.

"Rising higher meant more there than it means here where the king has been known to converse amiably with his butler," Alagaer continued. "Lord Guilin was captain-in-chief of Nargothrond's forces for long years, but after the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, it became clear that he was not fit for this position any longer and wished to be rid of it himself. Not only had he learned that his son Gelmir, taken long ago, had met the most gruesome end one could imagine, he had also lost his second son, Gwindor, who was a prisoner in Morgoth's mines then….He wished to be left alone and mourn them in peace. So it was obvious that the position would soon be vacant, and Eliant wanted it. Alas, he was no the only one Orodreth was considering for it."

He smiled crookedly and I felt a sudden burst of pity for him.

"And now," he said in a low voice, tightly controlled, "we are near the incident we mentioned before."

This, at least, was making more sense to me. The Noldor were always power hungry. They did have a stricter hierarchy than we did, and it must have grated on Eliant that Orodreth, who became king in Nargothrond after his brother traveled north with Beren, would look upon a former scullion with equal thought of promoting him to the position so recently vacated by Guilin. Yes, the Noldor did not usually lay aside their ancient feelings on birth and position, and yet it appeared that in this instance they had.

"I take it your promotion to captain was more than Eliant could bear?" I said a bit prematurely and mistakenly for Alagaer shrugged.

"I never got Guilin's position; neither did he, by the way, but he made sure I was well out of the way by then. It was during one of those great autumn campaigns against the orcs that he made certain I did not return from a battle, and then blamed my apparent death on my son. I was not dead though, but in Morgoth's mines."

There was a flare of fear in his eyes that vanished as quickly as it had come, but I had not imagined it. My heart and mind were suddenly too full of the unfolding tragedy that had befallen my friend and his father, and I did not know what to say. But then Linlote spoke. He was looking at his hands, his face downcast, though I could see a grey pall over his features.

"I lost my eye in that battle, and when I returned from it, half-made with pain and the sorrow of believing my father had fallen, he had me accused of being a traitor, of having been in a secret agreement with Morgoth's orcs not to move the small group of warriors under my command when it was necessary, and thus having brought about or condoning my father's demise… They believed him. They _all_ believed him, before a trial had even taken place." He bit his lip and I stared at him in amazement. His eye was shimmering with unshed tears, but they did not fall. "I fled, fearing for my life, and aware I had already lost everything else."

Alagaer gently placed one hand on his son's shoulder, a gesture of comfort and of love.

"It was a devious lie, of course, to mask his own crimes and to discredit us forever," he said in a low voice. "When I returned from the mines after years, and learnt of what had happened, I tried to kill Eliant. Unfortunately, they held me back."

"I was not a traitor," Alagaith reiterated, rubbing his nose, no longer meeting my eyes and I knew why. He thought that I too would not believe him. He had said something once that I now recalled, that no one ever believed him. Suddenly I was beginning to understand Linlote and his father a little better.

I could have told him that Orodreth had been sorely remiss in his duties if they had all decided beforehand that one side of the story was all they needed to hear and judged to be the sole truth, but then my feelings toward the Noldor were well-known and, well, biased.

"They were fools then to believe otherwise," I said firmly, looking at Linlote who was still perilously close to breaking down and at Alagaer who had survived the mines when so few had. Eliant must have jealously guarded his position in Nargothrond…or….I frowned. He had fooled me, hadn't he, with his pleasant manners and smiles. "Will he make trouble for you here?" I asked, voicing a newborn fear. "Will he…will he tell _his_ tale to Thranduil?" I do not know if I voiced this aloud or merely thought it for my mind was now working furiously. Would this Elian sow seeds of discord and hatred here as he had at Nargothrond? "There would be no reason, but…."

There had been no reason at Nargothrond either, not really….

I looked back up at them to see worry blooming in Alagaer's eyes. I had never seen him look that way before and it was frightening.

"I am certain he will reveal the matter to the king," he said with resignation and bitterness coloring his voice. "As long as Tithen Aith's brand was hidden, he was careful, as he could not know what position we occupy here, but now that he knows we are nothing, he will gladly make sure we will never be trusted here."

I was about to disagree, but Linlote was already speaking, his mind leaping ahead, spurred on, no doubt, by his fears and worries.

"If anything bad should happen, will you take Alagant to Laketown?"

I gazed at the child who had been so silent during this distressing conversation. I had nearly forgotten he was there. He folded his arms over his chest, and thrust out his lip, saying simply yet forcefully, "I am staying."

But Linlote ignored him, continuing with, "I know talking to Seven was not easy for you, but you could certainly explain everything to Gwindor, he is…."

His voice faltered, and he looked suddenly…guilty. His eye widened, his cheeks paling, and it took me a moment to realize what he had said. He took up Alagaer's wine glass and gulped down what was left in it.

"Gwindor?" I echoed. "Gwindor?"

The words 'Uncle Gwin' sounded in my head, and I remembered the tall elf in Laketown. Uncle Gwin and…Aunt Fin…

"That can't be," I murmured, staring at the three of them. Linlote's brow was knit, but Alagaer and Alagant's faces told the tale. By the Valar! Gwindor and Finduilas? Gwindor and Finduilas? No…no….They were dead…weren't they? Dead….

I pressed my hands to my eyes and shook my head. This was too much to think about and certainly who Uncle Gwin and Aunt Fin were really did not matter here, did it?

"Nothing is going to happen," I murmured, finding it a bit hard to rearrange my thoughts into proper order again, and what I said was probably not entirely the truth, or even what I believed. "I will go to Thranduil even now and plead your case…if you wish it."

Yes, someone should speak to the king before Eliant got to him. But surely Thranduil would not be taken in by that smooth-tongued Noldo…only he had been before. I frowned, remembering the kind words spoken to a grieving younger Thranduil by this very Noldo. He had said the words Oropher's son had needed to hear, words that no one else had managed to say to him…that _I_ had not said to him. This was not good.

"Thank you," Linlote said after a moment's hesitation. "That is very kind of you. But…." His voice faltered and I thought he would refuse my help; they were very proud these sons of Nargothrond. So his next words were unexpected. "You must be aware of one thing. If Eliant convinces Thranduil that his side of the story is true, and you speak against him, he will gladly make sure you end up punished as well."

My lips curved and one brow rose. "He does not have that power over me, Linlote," I said with assurance. "Not here. I do not fear him, overconfident, lying Noldo that he is."

He had no power here at all. He was a guest and nothing more. If only he had not said those words to Thranduil while he kept watch over his father's body….

Alagaith shook his head, a smile touching his lips reluctantly.

"No, Mordil. You will stay here. I will not cower here and wait for Eliant to act, but have a word with the king myself. I am one of his subjects now, after all, and entitled to ask for his protection if I fear to be unjustly accused." He moved then, swiftly and decisively, taking up his cloak, one of nice Noldorin blue.

I opened my mouth, the objection already forming on my lips, but then I closed it again. If Linlote wished to speak to Thranduil then he should. I nodded slowly, and smiled wryly. "Just…don't do anything to antagonize him." Yes, Linlote could do that to people without knowing it. I winked at him to let him know that I was jesting with him…mostly. But what would I do if things went ill? What if Eliant had already run to Thranduil with his lies, sheathed in lovely words and imploring looks?

Linlote was grinning, but the fear shone in his grey eye. "I will behave," he promised, "never fear. Just make sure he," he nodded at Alagaer, "does not do anything foolish if I do not return."

He left then, hurrying out before anyone could object.

Night had fallen, and the forest around me was calm and peaceful. The less than kind creatures that lurked in its depths were well hidden beneath the soothing murmur of the sleeping trees, just as well as Eliant's malice was masked by his polite demeanor.

I could not enjoy the beauty of the spring night, the mild light of Elbereth's fair stars and the wondrous dark shapes of oak and beech against the mellow sky. The glory of all Arda around me only seemed to mock my plight as I hurried towards the king's hall, and even though I told myself more than once that Thranduil was good and wise and would at least grant me the opportunity to explain myself, I could not help wondering if this short journey through the nightly woods was the last I would see of the world for a long time, before being sent back to the dungeon they had released me from not so long ago.

It did not help that I found the king in his gardens all alone. Meeting him in his hall, in a more less unconventional setting where clear rules existed, would have offered the faint security of formality.

Out here, however, he did not even seem like a king, but rather like a contented wood-elf who was very much part of the garden and the surrounding woods, cradling a glass of wine in his hand while he allowed his bare toes to explore the mossy ground around the old oak tree under which he had settled. It seemed like a crime to interrupt this happy creature's reverie, and the negligent elegance with which he had arranged himself between tree roots and flat rocks, golden hair tumbling over a loose green robe unbound, made me painfully aware how much of an intruder I was, a Noldo with a blue cloak and braids that were too immaculate for comfort, and a bearer of bad news, at that.

"My king?" I bowed deeply, feeling awkward and clumsy, as if all courtly style of Nargothrond could not match his natural grace, and perhaps, it could not. "Might I disturb you for a moment?"

Thranduil tore his eyes away from the stars then, looking mildly surprised at my arrival, whether because of the interruption itself or because it was _me_ standing before him, I do not know. Nevertheless, he gave a nod and motioned for me to approach. "You do good work," he commented lightly, indicating the garden around us where I had weeded for the last several days, before his free hand came to rest atop a mossy stone again.

He had not spoken in a sarcastic tone, and his praise brought a slight smile to my face; at least, I had obviously not given a completely disastrous impression until now. "Thank you."

But this short pleasure could not spare me from saying what I had come to say, and so, feeling highly uncomfortable, I began: "My king, there is something I must confess to you, not pertaining to a crime, but to the part of my past anteceding my years as a thief. I admit that I should have informed you of the matters I am going to outline earlier, but they seemed of little consequence, until the Rivendell embassy arrived here and... brought back ancient memories."

Thranduil's face had remained impassive while I had spoken. "And what pray tell is the matter you need to inform me of?" He set his wine glass down and straightened, achieving the most astonishing transformation with this little movement. He was the king again now, formidable and regal, a ruler and a judge, even if he was sitting barefoot on the ground.

"Meaning to do us a favour, Tanglinna invited one of the Rivendell elves for dinner this evening, one Eliant..."

I told him the whole story that Mordil had already listened to then, in more formal words and somewhat more succinctly, but not leaving out any part, even though I hated having to return to the battlefields of Beleriand for a second time this night. But the worst part was yet to come. I knew what I had to offer now, and I silently cursed the demands of honesty and honour; running off to Laketown would have been much easier, but that road was barred to me now.

"While I still maintain that I am innocent of the treason I was accused of then, I am aware that Eliant may either be convinced otherwise or may consider it opportune to claim to be convinced of my guilt. I am equally aware that this matter could easily be used to Mirkwood's disadvantage, if it were claimed that this was a place where traitors are allowed to hide from justice. If you consider it necessary to have me arrested until the matter is formally settled or" – here, I hesitated – "to hand me over to the Rivendell elves for trial, if this is what they request, I am at your disposal."

I bent my head most formally then, hoping that he would decide to take the matter into his own hands if he deemed immediate action necessary instead of letting Eliant's Rivendell friends handle it, but one never knew.

Glancing up, I noticed he was studying me intently, his blue eyes piercing, searching, but hiding his own thoughts too well. Finally, he nodded. "If someone from the Rivendell party says anything to me, then we shall attend to what needs doing. Is that all?"

He had already picked up his glass again, one brow lifted in what could have seemed like inquiry, but was actually a dismissal. Whatever he thought of my life story, it was obviously not important enough to cause him to interrupt his quiet evening any longer.

"No." I knew I should already have been retiring, but I remembered Mordil's words about pleading our case and wishing to support us against Eliant. He would do so most willingly, and probably get himself into atrocious trouble, most certainly at a time when it was not within my power any more to help him. "Do not hold it against Tanglinna that he brought me here and spoke for me. He knew none of this until this evening."

Thranduil held my gaze. "Do you think I would, Alagaerion? Clearly you think me harsh, not to mention rash and cruel. Go home to him for I know he will be very worried about you." His faint smile held a good deal of reproach, of a gentler sort than what I might really have deserved for doubting my king so openly. "Tell him he worries too much, and I will not have it."

The nonchalance with which he took a sip of wine then was obviously a mask, but an effective one; I did not know what to think.

Thus, I simply bowed silently and left, just as worried as I had come, even though I asked myself if I dared hope that the king's last words had held half a promise of protection, or at least of true justice. When I had been afraid of Thranduil before, my fears had proved quite unfounded. So perhaps, he was only better than others at appearing enigmatic and possibly severe, out of necessity, while his heart was as good and kind as they said? Mordil seemed to trust him, at least most of the time, and I trusted Mordil, so maybe I could also trust the king to treat me fairly, and…

And there was Eliant, passing through the tall gate formed by two towering oaks with interwoven branches just as I was about to leave the gardens. It was as I had feared; he had to be on his way to the king, and it was but a faint triumph to have spoken to Thranduil first.

I had stopped dead when I had noticed Eliant, and he seemed quite surprised himself for a moment. Then, a smile, friendly and courteous as ever, entered his face, never reaching his cold eyes. "I am surprised to see you here, Alagaith. I would have thought you would have fled by now...and not to the king."

"Pray tell, why should I flee? If there is a reason to do so, it has escaped me until now, but you will doubtlessly enlighten me." It pleased me that I had not sounded like One-Eye right now, but like an Alagaith Alagaerion who had been buried for a long time. Buried, but not dead. Not dead yet.

Eliant was not as impressed as he should have been, but then, to his ears, I probably sounded like my usual self, or that of my selves he had known long ago. "I doubt enlightenment is what you seek. Filled the king's ears with lies have you?" He was still smiling pleasantly to the point of making a chill creep up my spine. "What makes you think he will believe your little 'story'? No one else ever has." He paused for a moment to let this important truth sink in. "Why do you think it will be different here? It won't be."

Perhaps it would not be different indeed, and I suddenly felt very tired, the small rush of elation I had felt at defending myself like the innocent elf I was instead of sneaking away like a thief gone as quickly as it had come. "Why continue this old game of yours, Eliant? My father and I are not in the way right now. We are quite harmless and miserable, as you have seen. We _cannot_ stand in your way here. Can we not just agree on leaving each other alone?" It was an inane plea, more worthy of a frightened child than of a warrior, and I knew it would never work even as I spoke.

"To be left alone? Is that all you want? Are you satisfied with your position here?" Eliant shook his head with a laugh, and perhaps, his words had truly sounded ridiculous to him. In his ambitious mind, there was certainly no room for the thought that a quiet corner in the world, some kindness, respect and friendship and a well-filled table were enough to be satisfied with. "No, you and your father were never satisfied with your 'position' in life, were you?"

A sudden fierceness took hold of his features then, transforming them into something I had not known an face could ever be changed into, a wild grimace resembling one of the painted masks the mountain orcs use when they dance and shout to chase the winter away, only much worse. "I will _never_ leave you alone until I am rid of you forever!" he hissed.

Perhaps this forest, wild and untamed, brought out the feral side of us all, but this was more than I had expected even of Eliant, and I found myself taking a step back, wondering if he was still sane, or so devoured by his hatred that his wish to see us utterly destroyed had eaten up all common sense.

"So this is what it is about?" I finally ventured after we had stared at one another for a moment in silence, his face still so distorted by murderous anger that it seemed barely elven any more. "Being rid of us?"

I fervently wished for him to repeat what he had just said, and for somebody – anybody, be he Rivendell elf or woodland warrior! – to overhear this hate-filled threat, to serve as a witness that Eliant wanted to be rid of me, and not to serve justice, as he would have claimed he was doing at any other time..

But Eliant was his usual self again then, the wargishly snarling face changing back into the smooth, composed features of a polite courtier. "You have ever been a thorn in my side. It is my...duty to tell King Thranduil that he harbors a viper in his bosom."

He turned away then, brushing his hands over his clothing, as if my very presence had already sullied them. I did not follow him into the gardens, hoping that Thranduil already knew what he had to know.

TBC

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Dragon and Tree


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Standard

Chapter 6- Darkness Falling

The small bow was of smoothly polished yew, flexible and beautiful with a delicate flowering vine that twined about its length. There were seven of these little bows made for seven little archers, each with an individual carving done by Brethil.

Once his father Bronadui had carved birds, flowers, leaves, acorns, or animals on the children's first practice bows, each managing to match the new archer's personality. It was comforting to see the tradition carried on by his son.

I had cut strings for each bow, fitting them individually, checking the tension and placing the bowstrings into small pouches I attached to the bows. Tomorrow the fledgling archers would be taught to use their bows, to keep their strings when not in use in their tunics by their hearts. They would learn from the onset how to care for their weapon for who knew when their lives might depend upon that graceful curve of wood and the skill I would teach them.

I was humming under my breath as I worked, then sang softly to each bow as it was fitted with string and tested, telling it of the joy it would feel when put to the use it was created for; of the archer's small hand, the deft pull of the string, the swift release as the arrow flew.

This was a comfortable ritual, one that I had performed every time a new group of elflings came under my tutelage. Soon I hoped young Alagant would join a class; I suspected he would make an excellent student of the bow for he had a serious demeanor, which is necessary if one wishes to excel at anything.

I had feared, after my delightful dinner party of a few days past, that things would go badly for Linlote, but no one had even mentioned it. Perhaps Eliant had not gone to Thranduil, who was busy with the Rivendell visitors. Perhaps he was not as devious and ready to relive old grievances as Linlote feared. I was determined not to let his uncertainties manifest when it appeared there was no reason to worry.

And so my mind turned to something else: Gwindor. I admit that it puzzled me to think that Uncle Gwin could be Gwindor of Nargothrond, and yet it appeared that this was the case…or at least Alagaith and his father believed that this elf was Gwindor.

"'Thence came only a small company, following Gwindor son of Guilin, a very valiant prince; and against the will of Orodreth he went to the northern war, because he grieved for the loss of Gelmir his brother in the Dagor Bragollach….'"

I murmured these words, part of the beginning of the tale of the battle of Nirnaeth Arnoediad as was sung still among our people. It was a tale of valor and grief. We in Doriath had our own problems at this time with the sons of Feanor and the cursed Silmaril though I was too young at the time to much heed it.

It was a sad tale, the tale of Gwindor, filled with much sorrow and broken friendships and love lost. While I tried to recall every detail of the face of the elf in Laketown, to fit that face to that of Gwindor of the tales – or what _I_ imagined as the face of Gwindor- a voice called, "Master Tanglinna?"

Before I could even hide my surprise, Eliant came forward, smiling politely.

"I am sorry to interrupt you, but I believe I owe you an apology of even greater proportions than this trivial one."

I stood slowly, setting the last bow aside and brushing off my tunic. This was unexpected, and I could not think of any reason he should seek me out to apologize. Now, if I had been dealing with a Silvan or even a Sinda, I would have confronted him outright about this business of his with Linlote, but this was a Noldo and his life was entwined with Linlote's for good or ill, and I would not want to jeopardize Linlote's position here with rash words. And that is not how the 'civilized' elves handled things. I would dance the expected dance of mincing around the true subject as was polite and expected. And slightly dishonest….Clearly my Noldorin half had come to the fore.

"I do not know if I am the one you owe the apology to, Master Eliant." There. That was polite, but honest. It was Alagaith and his father that he should be apologizing to, not me.

He smiled in a most ingratiating manner, one might say it was kind, but I knew that Eliant had used this easy, charm to his benefit before. I was forewarned.

"But you are!" he exclaimed. "I regret that the shadows of a past I had believed to be past and gone indeed had to catch up with me just then to ruin you dinner." He held out a parcel then, obviously a bottle of some sort. "Please accept this as a recompense for that spoiled evening. It is the very least I can do."

I took the bottle, studying him, surprised and not pleased that he had such an easy charisma, one that had swayed the entire court of Nargothrond. And where had he purloined a bottle of wine? If the Rivendell company had brought wine with them, it was surely a gift to Thranduil.

"I suppose that is why I do not give dinner parties," I said, trying not to let my suspicion color my words, "someone will end up apologizing for something." Well, that was inane, but true. My dinner parties, such as they were, usually ended up with Vardamar and I butting heads over something said or imagined after too many glasses of wine. Then something he had said struck me. Yes, the past did have some of us too tightly in its grasp, perhaps Eliant could not bring himself to apologize to Alagaith and Alagaer, but he wished to, through me, lay old bitter feelings aside.

"It is hard to let go of the past," I began, hardly daring to hope that Eliant did regret what had happened, not only at my dinner party, but all those many years ago. "I have been told myself that one must not let things long gone rule the lives we have now."

His smile grew melancholy, and when he spoke, I could hear the regret in his voice.

"This is true indeed, and I was most remiss in not following that wise maxim some days ago." He sighed a bit, shaking his head. "Perhaps you will understand that I was…surprised to meet your acquaintances, and not as pleased as I should have been about this reunion with former friends. At times, the past cannot really be forgotten."

I studied him, wondering what really lay hidden behind his careful countenance.

"Yes, it is very hard to put certain things behind us, but surely," I decided to press the issue a bit, though carefully, more carefully than was my wont, "surely there was much …misunderstanding between you and Lin-Alagaith." No, best think of Linlote as Alagaith now. I kept my face quite neutral though all I wanted was an outright confrontation, not these ridiculous niceties that were so false. "Mayhap it is time to let…bygones be bygones."

Doubtful. Even if Eliant decided to let things lie, I doubted that Alagaith or his father would truly be able to forgive all they had suffered at Eliant's hands. But if they could merely wait until he was gone, and the Rivendell company should be leaving soon, maybe things could go back to how they had been. Or I was being naïve.

"Misunderstandings?" he echoed, sounding as if he were at least thinking about my proposal of a truce. "Is that what he calls it? I wish I could believe it was all merely a misunderstanding….I wish I could…." He looked away, and I wondered why he appeared to struggle with some emotion that was almost too powerful for him. Could he be telling me the truth? Was he being sincere? After some time he looked back at me, his face drawn in lines of…resignation. "I suppose he told you some story about a 'misunderstanding' indeed….What did he tell you?"

_You could ask him yourself,_ I thought, but told him succinctly what Linlote had told me of their past history. Linlote would not appreciate this directness, but then I am not a dissembling Noldo who thrived on hiding insults behind a veneer of politeness and elegance.

"Will you tell me this is…perhaps a 'misunderstanding'?" Hmph. It was hardly a 'misunderstanding'. He knew it, I knew it. That is what I got for trying to be something that I was not. Well, no more prancing about. I could be honest and polite at the same time.

Eliant looked rather puzzled and sad, and I wondered what tactic he would try next.

"Now, in Alagaer's case, it may be one…It was obvious even back then that his time in the mines had…affected him, if you know what I mean."

Oh, I knew what he meant, and I could feel my jaw tightening, and had to force myself to relax as he continued.

"He may be convinced that I wished him ill indeed, distrustful and scared as those years between whips and chains had rendered him."

I stared at him, stunned that he could speak of someone like this. Yes, there was a hint of pity in his voice, but there was something else… something not right in his words, as if they did not really convey what he was thinking or feeling.

"As for his son, of course, he will claim his innocence now. I wish I could believe him." He shook his head, looking down but not before he allowed a mask of sorrow to cloud his face, one that he made certain that I saw. "He was such a sweet child…."

My jaw clenched once more.

"I have only known Alagaith for a short time, it is true," I admitted, and if this Noldo thought I would say something to give him fodder for his plight, he was wrong, "but I have found him to be very honest, brutally so at times, even when perhaps a lie would be more convenient. I have also seen him with his father, and I have never seen such loyalty and love as there is between the two of them. So forgive me if I seem," a small sneer crossed my lips, "skeptical when _you_ try to claim that Alagaith is merely 'claiming' his innocence now."

Strange how my own bout with brutal honesty changed my companion's demeanor for he smiled without humor.

"It is small wonder that you would trust his word over mine, having rescued him from his life of poverty and crime, and considering him a friend…I merely hope that your trust in him is justified, that I was…mistaken."

Not quite an admission of guilt, but closer than what I would have expected of him. Or so I told myself for if I allowed my first thought to rule, things would go badly, but it certainly sounded like he was implying that _I_ was the one that was mistaken.

I wanted to argue that I had not rescued Linlote but merely given him a chance at a better life, but I settled for, "He saved my life, and I do trust him as he trusts me, as for his past life…it was not one he wanted or deserved." My tone was a bit accusatory and I knew that if our conversation did not end soon, I might end up breaking the bottle he had given me over his silly Noldorin head! "I hope your time here in Mirkwood is more pleasant than it has been thus far."

Yes, let it be more pleasant for us all.

"Not one he wanted or deserved?" He quirked one dark brow, clearly not ready to give up the argument. "Then I wonder why he chose it. If he was innocent, why did he flee before he could prove his innocence at a trial? And even if this was an act of a foolish youngling, why did he not turn elsewhere for help, but chose the life of a thief? This was still before the utter destruction of Beleriand, after all, there were many places where he could have found support….Even among the orcs, I wager, given his unhealthy interest in them." He chuckled, but it was not with mirth. "There are too many unanswered questions, Master Tanglinna, but I do not wish to steal more of your time. Forgive me; I got carried away."

Whether he knew it, he had shown me his true face. Yes, he was a sly one, pretending to be solicitous when in fact he was trying to sway me to his side with his whys and unanswered questions, and his orcs. Well, I was wise to him now. I forced my jaw to loosen and unclenched my teeth. For a fleeting moment I wondered how he would react if he knew about Seven…but no, it would only prove his point…to his way of seeing things.

"When one is young and scared, often what seems most logical…never crosses the mind. You…lose yourself and when at last you come back, sometimes it is too late to undo things, and you are indeed someone else." The events of our lives do shape us, more than we would like at times. "I shall not take anymore of your time, Master Eliant, but tell me…how did the king receive your warning?"

I did not know that Eliant had gone to the king, and was going only on a hunch. If he had, it was best to know of it and be prepared.

"As a king should," he said, "listening carefully, but not revealing his thoughts to the stranger that I am." He inclined his elegant head, biding me farewell and none too soon. His cloak, which I noted was of finest light wool dyed blue and embroidered with a half circle of stars along the hem, a sharp contrast to the cloak Linlote had been wearing when first I saw him.

I sighed, shaking my head. So much for wishing this situation was over; clearly it was not. Well, I had seen the spider lurking in its tangled web, and I would be prepared for whatever attack it decided on. I knew I had to tell Linlote of my conversation, and warn him that yes, Eliant had gone to Thranduil already.

I gathered up the little bows, the pouches of string swinging, balancing them and the bottle. Yes, I would tell him after I delivered these to the elflings and then over this nice bottle of wine we would make our preparations for battle…if necessary.

"I will join you by the brook in a moment!"

Little did I know that I would not be able to keep that promise, even though I meant and wished to keep it as I watched Seven disappear between the trees, headed for the place where Alagant and my father had gone fishing some time ago.

His visit had been rather unexpected, but welcome nonetheless after the tense, if calm, days that had followed our dinner with Eliant. I suspected Alagant of having sent word to Laketown. At least, I recalled having seen him talking to a dwarven pedlar who had passed through Mirkwood a short while ago, but if it was so, it was a secret between him and 'Uncle Seven' who was suspiciously well-informed about what had happened, but not ready to reveal the source of his astonishing knowledge. He was not pleased at all with the recent events, and would have preferred for us to return to Laketown with him, but practical minded as he was, he had also brought me my swords just in case I chose to stay here.

"You will need those", he had explained when he had opened the lean bundle he had brought me, revealing my sword and one of Gurshak's glorious scimitars, "and not only because you are playing the secret swordmaster right now, if I am not mistaken. Hide them well, and if an opportunity to run that stinking would-be warrior through arises, do not hesitate."

I intended to follow the first half of his sage advice right now, but I hoped that ramming a blade right into Eliant's foul flesh would not be necessary. Nothing had happened for several days now, so I had foolishly surmised that Thranduil had been wise enough to see through my old enemy's web of lies and had chosen to ignore those ludicrous allegations. The Rivendell elves would not stay in our forest forever, and once they were gone, there would be peace…

In these gentle spring days, it was easy to think such thoughts and dream of a fair future, even during the long hours of tedious work I still found myself burdened with, but even more so while I helped Galion practice his swordsmanship in a secluded glade not far from Mordil's home. Talking to Seven had improved my mood even more, and, looking forward to an evening filled with even more companionable chatting, and perhaps even a dinner that would make my dear, stubborn Master Archer realize that not all orcs were bad, I was whistling to myself quite merrily when I moved to hide the swords in the rafters of Mordil's house.

I had believed that I would be able to leave again before Mordil ever returned home, but he appeared on the doorstep even then. With the long practice of a Silvan warrior, he had climbed up here silently enough to make any thief envious even though his arms were well laden with children's bows and what appeared to be a wrapped wine bottle, so silently, in fact, that _I_ had not heard him approach.

I do not know just what he thought of my attempt to hide something under his roof, but I, for one, felt strangely reminded of our first meeting, being caught red-handed at something I should never have done, and, perhaps because of that, I went through a short moment of guilt. I should have told him about the swords and asked his permission to store them in the house, especially as he was still officially my 'gaoler', as Thranduil had put it, meant to keep an eye on my activities and to make sure that I remained firmly on the right side of the law…

But what has been done cannot be undone, and so, I remained silent, waiting for him to ask the inevitable question.

He did lift one brow, but the question he asked was not exactly the one I had expected. "Is there a problem, Linlote?" If he presumed there was one, he obviously did not think it was too great, for he still found the time to debarrass himself of his burden quite calmly, setting the bottle on the table and storing the little carved bows away.

"No, why?" Calling the mere presence of my swords a 'problem' would have taken doubt and honesty too far; it could become one, but it was none at this time. "You are back earlier than I expected you."

Tanglinna studied the bundle that I had set down when he had approached. "What have you got there? Can I help you with it?" There was the hint of a sigh in his voice, as if he had sensed my initial unease, and realizing just what he had offered, I had to grin in spite of myself.

"No, Mordil, not really. I think we have safely established that I am the one who knows to handle swords, hm?"

His brow shot up at this again, this time slightly higher, indicating that he was astonished, if not shocked. "Swords?" He knew well enough that I had never been formally allowed to handle any sort of weapon, least of all a sword; they knew how much damage I could do with one if they let me. "Are you polishing them for Vardamar then? Or sharpening them? Or were you going to enter the sword fighting contest?"

I shook my head, well aware that he knew the answer already. "No, I am merely hiding them here. The swordmasters must not know- " I had meant to explain about Seven and about alluding to as much as I could say about the sword fighting lessons without divulging Galion's secret completely, but at the sharp knock at the door, I fell silent. These matters could not be discussed when anybody else was present, and this knock did not sound as if my family was waiting outside.

Mordil, apparently puzzled by my enigmatic half-response, turned to open the door. "Ah Ecthelhador."

The guard captain was standing in front of the door a bit awkwardly indeed, fingering his old blue cap that he had taken off. "Is your... guest here, Tanglinna? Alagaith?"

"I am." I could answer for myself, but even as I moved to stand next to Mordil, I sensed that something was very wrong. Ecthelhador had not sounded like the Ecthelhador I had come to know over the course of the weeks spent in Mirkwood, but like someone speaking out of duty and trying to keep his voice devoid of emotion without much success.

"Good... Or, not quite that good for you." The unfortunate captain was kneading his cap quite ferociously now, his hands betraying how unhappy he was with whatever he had been sent to do. "I am really sorry... The matter will certainly be resolved soon enough... But for the time being, I have to ask you to accompany me to the Hall right now."

He tried to look like the strict gaoler he had never really been and failed miserably. All I saw was a torn, hesitant elf, but the compassion I could have felt on his behalf never fully reached my heart, as icy fear held it in its iron grip already. Being summoned to the Hall was not good, but being summoned there by an obviously reluctant captain murmuring strange things was even worse. This had to be Eliant's doing. Perhaps he had not only approached the king, but the queen, who had never thought kindly of me, or had asked Glorfindel to help him… They would drag out the whole old story that had cost me my old life at Nargothrond, and I would find myself chased away or imprisoned even before nightfall.

Mordil had probably come to a similar conclusion, for he frowned fiercely, crossing his arms over his chest as he moved slightly in front of me. "Why does Linlote need to go to the Hall?"

His readiness to defend me even though I had not been able to explain about the hidden swords yet touched me, and the knowledge that, unlike long ago, I would not be friendless and helpless today, filled me with deep gratitude – gratitude, and hope that all would be well in the end. Eliant had not won yet, and he would not be able to prove a crime that had never happened, and was supposed to have taken place so long ago in lands that were no more…

Ecthelhador's firm voice cut through my kind dream. "Please stand aside, Tanglinna." He looked miserable, but he was determined not to back down. "You are to remain here, by order of the king." Obviously an angry King was much worse than an angry Master Archer.

"By order of the king?" Mordil echoed, eyes widening with surprise. "I will not unless the king tells me so himself." He glared at Ecthelhador quite impressively, even if he had to know just as well as I did that the poor captain was merely trying to do his duty. "Why does Linlote need to go to the Hall?"

Ecthelhador sighed and spoke the words that had to be uttered at some point. "He is under arrest for now. - Come now, we may not tarry any longer. The king was impatient even when I left." He gazed at Tanglinna then, the silent plea in his eyes even stronger than the one he dared to mold into words. "Please stay here. This is too serious to be treated lightly."

"Under arrest? Ecthelhador, you will tell me why or I will go to Thranduil myself, and I don't think that is what you want." Mordil was playing the stubborn Master Archer now, but underneath this mask of self-assurance, I saw shock and distress, even a certain amount of helplessness that did not go well with the silver peacock. "What has he been accused of? Is it that Eliant of Rivendell?"

I had been certain of Eliant's guilt in this matter, and this belief that I knew who my enemy was had lent me some strength and composure, but I had obviously been mistaken.

Ecthelhador stared at Tanglinna quite blankly, as if his question had not been the result of sensible deduction, but a ridiculous wild guess. "Eliant of Rivendell? No. Why would he wish to accuse Alagaith of anything? Does he even know him?" But it _had_ to be Eliant, probably hiding behind some accomplice, for what the captain said next, his face sad and serious, would not have made any sense otherwise: "This is about serious charges - plotting treason and murder. I have brought warriors with me, they are waiting downstairs. I do not wish to drag anybody out of this house in fetters, so... please do not resist any longer." Looking at Mordil again, he added: "You are to remain here for your own protection."

Tanglinna was silent for a moment. "My own protection?" he finally asked. "At least tell me why I need to stay here for that. It makes no sense at all."

He glanced at me then, but I had no time to respond to his silent enquiry with or without words, for Ecthelhador gently pushed him aside, taking my arm in a firm grip, as if he knew that he might have to restrain me. He was between us then, effectively shielding us from one another, and when he spoke to Tanglinna, he was still gazing at me: "Because it would appear you were the intended victim."

When Morgoth and Ungoliant robbed Aman of the light of the Two Trees, if must have felt like this. Within a heartbeat, my world went black, cold and menacing, a waking nightmare from which there was no escape, not even the questionable comfort of drowsiness and physical pain that had at least allow me to believe I had misheard something due to my poor state when they had accused me of having brought about my own father's death so long ago. Now, I was healthy, and sane, and awake, and I had just been accused of planning to kill Mordil. To kill _Mordil_!

"This is not true!" It was not an eloquent defense, but the only one I was capable of as I glanced at Tanglinna now, torn between hope and fear. What if he believed Ecthelhador? They never believed me, after all… No, nobody ever believed me when it mattered. "You know it is not true, Mordil!"

The moment of silence seemed to be too long, and why I even moved when Ecthelhador steered me towards the door, I do not know; I wanted an answer first. Perhaps it was the deeply ingrained knowledge that, the worse the crime they accused you of was, the more dangerous and futile resistance became. "Please come now." Still no answer, and we were on the doorstep now, cool air touching my face. "We have lost enough time. I am sure the matter will be resolved soon."

Resolved, but in what way?

It was then that Tanglinna emerged from his stunned state, finding his voice again. "If I am the intended victim as you say, then why am I not allowed to accompany you?"

Intended victim… He believed them, then? Yes. He believed them.

But before this realization could sink in, Tanglinna reached out to gently grasp my hand, and when he spoke, I knew I had misjudged him. "Linlote, I know it is not true. I will speak for you, never fear. They will know this is not true. This is not Nargothrond."

This was not Nargothrond, and he was still my friend. He believed me. My friend Mordil believed me.

And repeating this one sentence in my head like a sacred chant, I let myself be led out of the house, down into the clearing where too many warriors were waiting, and then across the stream and into the dark passages of the wood-elf king's hall, until I stood before him, and before my accusers.

When I saw them, the small comfort _Mordil believes me_ had offered died away. These two were worse than Eliant could ever have been. As soon as they started repeating what they had already told the king in excited voices, their eyes aflame with the excitement of having uncovered a dangerous plot, I knew that Laebrui and Nimdir actually _believed_ what they were saying.

quote from "The Silmarillion" Chapter 20- Of the Fifth Battle: Nirnaeth Arnodediad

Authors' Note: Nimdir and Laebrui were introduced in "The Silver Peacock and the Skulking Cutpurse" Chapter 3.

Thank you once again to all our readers and reviewers. 


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: Standard

Chapter 7 – Misunderstandings and "Old Business"

"Misunderstandings"

The king's study was entirely too crowded, the warriors who had brought me here and a still uncomfortable Ecthelhador taking up most of the space in front of the desk, while my accusers stood next to it, and Arasceleg slightly behind it, by the king's side.

Thranduil's face was strangely impassive in the midst of all this commotion, and when he had briefly met my gaze when I had been led in, I had not been able to read anything in his eyes. His voice had been equally expressionless when he had ordered the two young warriors to speak: "Now that the...accused has arrived, I believe it is time to hear what the two of you have to say against him."

Now, they _were_ repeating their tale of my great and heinous crime, their obvious excitement betraying how young, how inexperienced, they still were, especially if compared to a poised old captain like Arasceleg or to the inscrutable king.

Unsurprisingly, Laebrui was the one who spoke first, after a quick glance at his companion, as if asking for silent reassurance. "We were returning from a hunt down by the standing stones..."

"An unsuccessful hunt, we must say."

"In any case, we were returning, and we heard voices and recognized that of the thief" – an accusing finger pointed straight at my breast – "but not that of the other person. We only knew it was... not an elven voice."

I knew then with utter certainty that they had overheard my conversation with Seven, and that Laebrui was lying at least in this respect. If you did not _see_ Seven, it was quite impossible to tell him apart from an elf, for his Sindarin was flawless, and his voice pleasant enough.

But Laebrui was already continuing: "So we moved closer and saw that he was, in fact, talking to an _orc_." He sounded disgusted, as if the term 'orc' denoted a particularly nasty kind of vermin, and perhaps, to him it did.

"A tall warrior orc," Nimdir pointed out. "At least as tall as the one of Bolg's personal guard I killed in battle!"

I refrained from pointing out that he had probably only been lucky that it had not been the other way round.

Thranduil still appeared unmoved. "You will call him by his name, which is Alagaith," he admonished them somewhat sternly, and I felt a flicker of hope; until now, he had always called me nothing but 'Alagaerion', so perhaps the fact that he was ready to accord me my own name now meant that he was at least ready to give me the benefit of the doubt. "What were they saying?" I could have explained the matter succinctly then and there, and much harm could have been prevented, but I was foolish enough to heed the king's look that told me to remain silent while Nimdir and Laebrui finished their tale.

Young Nimdir had flushed a bit at Thranduil's words. "Yes, my king. We thought it was strange that the th--- That _Alagaith_ was talking to an orc, and so we listened, and found out that they were conspiring to kill Master Tanglinna."

Shocked as I was to hear this particular accusation repeated, I did not fail to notice that the two young warriors were obviously convinced of its truth and not merely repeating a tale they had fabricated for whatever reason, or a malevolent whisper of Eliant's.

"The orc gave him swords," Laebrui continued with a nod, "and told him to hide them until they could be used for the murder. 'As soon as you can, run that stinking would-be warrior through', he said, and also 'I should have killed him when I could', and 'I should do it now', and then, he - Alagaith, I mean! - laughed and... and..."

His eyes, genuine fear and horror shining in them, found my face, and he fell silent, as if what he had witnessed then had been too terrible to be recounted.

But the king would not allow him to continue at his own pace. "And what?"

Laebrui took a deep breath and pressed on for better or worse: "And he took the swords and said: 'No, leave these to me... I know to handle them better than all you archers combined. Death at a scimitar's end would be fitting and unexpected indeed, don't you think?' The orc laughed, and said something like 'You could just challenge him, could you not? You are a better swordsman than he is?', and Alagaith laughed again and said: 'I proved that before a king, as well you know. But I will not challenge him... Not openly, anyway.'"

Told like this, it was not a pretty story, and when the king turned his head to contemplate me, I knew that I would not be able to dismiss the tale just with a smile and a shrug. "What do you say to this, Alagaith? These are serious accusations."

They were as serious as untrue, and I could explain what was behind them, but one thing made me hesitate, perhaps for too long a time. Seven was still in Mirkwood, fishing with my father and Alagant, and these elves that considered every orc without an exception their enemy would not treat him kindly if they found him, especially not if they believed him to be part of some hideous murder plot. If I had been overheard talking to an elf about the same matters, I could just have told them the truth, that we had not been entirely serious, and that we had not been talking about Tanglinna, but about Eliant, but this one word, '_orc_', had weakened my position considerably and was enough to condemn my friend in their eyes.

I had to buy time. "There can be little doubt that these two saw me indeed and overheard a conversation, but they... misunderstood," I finally stated, wishing for once in my life that I were a dainty courtly lady; fainting or pretending to faint would have been a most convenient course of action now, but warrior elves did not faint. Nor did thieves.

"So you admit that you were conversing with an orc? In our wood?" Thranduil sounded as if this were a crime in itself, and perhaps it was; the glance he threw at Arasceleg who was still standing next to him unmoving like a statue, only his eyes that studied me intently betraying that he was alive, seemed to indicate that it was something much worse than stealing cloaks on a battlefield.

This was not going well. "I was, my king." Denying it would only have made me look more suspicious. I briefly wondered if I could temporarily change the subject by telling them that Seven had explained to me how he had been able to enter the woods so easily – the guards in the old beech tree by the river had been engaged in a game of dice that had been more exciting than an orc walking into Mirkwood right under their very noses – but finally decided against it. Thranduil would not take well to being reminded that some of his subjects had their careless moments now and then.

He was looking displeased enough by now, his chin slightly lifted, making him seem more imperious, more regal. "And is what they report more or less accurate?" There was a sharpness in his voice that had not been there before, warning me not to play any games with him now, and I realized that, until then, he had perhaps hoped that the two young fools had been lying, but was not so certain any more now.

"Yes and no," I replied, determined to sound calm, but feeling quite miserable; I knew what this change in a judge meant. "We may have said things similar to those they report" – and in Sindarin, fools that we had been! - "and he brought me my sword and a scimitar, but neither of us intends to harm Mordil... Or any other wood-elf, for that matter."

"In what regard was their report not accurate?" The first question was barely out when the next followed, robbing me of time to think about my answers thoroughly. "Whom were you speaking of then if not Tanglinna?"

This was a true interrogation now, all pretence of benevolence gone, the accelerated pace showing clearly that now, they were not expecting neutral explanations any more, but a defense. Nobody in here considered me innocent any more, not even Ecthelhador who stirred uncomfortably next to me and would not meet my gaze. Perhaps it was better like this; he knew just as well as I did that I was going to spend this night in the dungeons.

Silently imploring the Valar to help me, but not really hoping that an eagle of Manwe would sweep in to speak in my defense or even that any less spectacular opportunity at proving my innocence would suddenly present itself, I explained: "We were speaking of Eliant of Rivendell, indulging in thoughts of revenge, but... not in all seriousness. Sharhur would not kill him, regardless of what he said."  
Even as I spoke, I knew I could just as well have recited Second Age love poetry; they would not believe me. They never did when I told the truth.

"Sharhur?" Thranduil looked puzzled for a moment, but before he could tell me that conversing with a _named_ orc was even worse than exchanging a few words with a nameless one, Arasceleg stepped forward. "Might I speak, hir-nin?"

Thranduil gave his permission with a nod.

The captain's eyes were cold as he gazed at me, mere splinters of coloured ice glittering in the harshly set lines of his face. "I am not certain if I believe your words, Alagaith." His voice was as stern and glacial as is his countenance. Not even out on the slopes of the Lonely Mountain, where he had been the first to discover my brand, had he sounded that menacing. "Who sent you here? Was it," he hesitated, but only slightly, and his hand moved to his belt where his knife might have been if he had not left his weapons outside the room, as required when entering the king's study, "Sgurush?"

At that point, I was certain that I had fallen into the hands of madmen. I could understand that they thought me capable of committing crimes; they had first met me when I had been a desperate battlefield robber, after all. An accusation of weapon smuggling or the like would have sounded plausible even in my ears, and even the charge of plotting murder, atrocious as it was, made some remote sort of sense if one read the wrong thing into my careless words about Eliant, but this? They thought I had been sent by _Sgurush_. Merciful Valar!

Of course, the name was not unfamiliar to me, but then, it was one of the most infamous names Arda had to offer. Even back in the First Age, this time full of strife and atrocities, Sgurush had been feared by orcs and elves, dwarves and men alike, but loved by none. His services had been for hire, but unlike a common mercenary, he would not put his skills to good use in battle; he had always sold his ability and willingness to kill. Sgurush was an assassin, and master of other assassins, if rumours were true, so sure of himself that he dared mark his victims with the first letters of his name, using elven letters, not orc runes, even though he was an orc… Or so it was said. Some doubted he even existed as more than a name used by various murderers, but others claimed he lived indeed, rarely venturing out of his well-hidden lair nowadays, but still alive… Still deadly.

And now, they were telling me that they suspected me of having been sent by this murderous phantom. Within moments, my astonishment gave way to anger. "Nobody sent me mere, Master Arasceleg, and I consider it deeply insulting that you dare imply that I might be in league with or even following the orders of one notorious murderer-for-hire. I may have been a thief for a long time, but there are things I would not even stoop to do if forced at knifepoint."

Arasceleg considered me, a smile, as feral as malicious, briefly dancing over his face. "No? We all know the grudge between Tanglinna and Sgurush, and what better way to...finish things than by sending someone who feigns to be a friend." He paused, as if caught in dark memories, while I desperately tried to remember if Mordil had ever told me anything about Sgurush. His family had died at the hands of orcs, or an orc, that much I knew… But surely, that had been a sad event in the never-ending conflict between orcs and elves, a bout of murderous rage born out of prejudice and the hardening of hearts in war? The idea that it could have been the work of assassins, Sgurush's work, had never occurred to me.

"We do all know your skill with blades," Arasceleg finished, interrupting my thoughts.

I wanted to scream at him, at all of them, that this was the most insane accusation they could have come up with, that they had to _see_ that it was not true, but I reined myself in. Losing composure now would have been my undoing. I had to show them that I was not afraid, that I was innocent… Fear and despair would have implied guilt. "You may know my skills with blades, but please consider one thing." I spoke in a quiet voice, sounding calmer than I had believed I could sound right now. "If I wanted Tanglinna dead, he would not be alive any more. I had two excellent scimitars at my disposal down in the goblins' lair, and he was chained to a wall quite helplessly. I could have disposed of him then an there, and everyone would have suspected the orc merchants did it. Why should I have waited until now?"

The king exchanged a glance with Arasceleg; they had probably wondered about this already. "Be that as it may, these are serious accusations, and you were given weapons by an orc," – it sounded like 'vermin' yet again – "and whether what you said was in jest or in earnest is hard to determine."

He had not mentioned Sgurush again, and for a moment, I dared hope that we were not on quite that perilous ground any more. "The weapons belong to me - at least, the sword does. The scimitar was one of the two I took from Gurshak the orc merchant when we fought." I paused, but chose to explain about Seven then; perhaps my willingness to reveal all I knew would dispel their worries. "As for the orc, he is not a random orc, but happens to be my friend. Among those who live on the roads and in the wild, removed from the communities they were born into, there are different rules than here. A person's race hardly counts out there." Thinking of yet another argument, I smiled without humour. "And if we had not been speaking in jest, but plotting a crime indeed, we would have spoken some form of Orcish, not Sindarin. What we said was harmless enough to be overheard by any passerby."

The king was silent for a moment, contemplating Laebrui and Nimdir, then Arasceleg, before he drew a breath as if to speak, only start in surprise when the door crashed open, shaking the hangings on the wall. Mordil had come to my rescue, after all, as he had promised.

While he looked almost enraged, his jaw taut, he was wise enough to bow to the king after his somewhat unconventional entrance. "Forgive me, hir-nin, but whatever they are saying against Alagaith is a lie!"

Dear, foolish Mordil. I would have liked to give him a firm hug for defending me so unquestioningly even though he obviously did not know at all just what was going on here.

"That is not for you to say, Master Tanglinna," the king reminded him, and Mordil's eyes moved to me, as if to assess how bad things really were.

I gave him the best smile I was capable of at the moment. "They merely misunderstood something, Mordil, and I am trying to explain. Apparently, they saw how Seven gave me the swords, and..." The swords! Perhaps, explaining about the swords could finally tip the balance in my favour, for an orc bringing me swords had to seem strange and dangerous indeed if there seemed to be no good reason. I turned to look at Thranduil. "My king, could you please have Galion fetched immediately?"

"What does Galion have to do with any of this?" Not only did the king not believe me, he also seemed highly confused now. "I thought you said the orc's name was Sharhur..." His eyes narrowed, and I knew I had made a mistake.

Arasceleg looked as if he felt vindicated. Obviously, I had not been entirely truthful, so he was entitled to continue suspecting me of the most horrid crimes.

I barely suppressed an exasperated sigh. "His _name_ is Sharhur; Seven is what he is commonly called, because he has but seven fingers left. He was an archer before he lost the other three. As for Galion... He will be able to explain why I need a sword." if only they let him explain it instead of believing that he was part of this nonexistent conspiracy as well…

Laebrui certainly did, and he looked quite excited at this 'revelation'. "I saw Master Galion talk to him some time ago. _Secretly_." Well, of course. The poor butler did not want to let anybody know about his swordfighting lessons! "I did not pay any heed to it then, but Master Galion said something like 'they must never know'."

"It would appear that there are important people missing in this drama," the king remarked, his voice still even. "This is certainly not going to be settled easily. Until all can be assembled that have some part in this," – he gazed at Mordil, something akin to a silent apology in his expression, and then at me – "I fear that Ecthelhador needs to escort Alagaith to his cell once more until this can be sorted out. Everyone will be here tomorrow morning, so if there is someone else involved in this, I need to know...now."

Mordil was about to speak then, doubtlessly meaning to protest against this unnecessary measure, but Arasceleg moved to place a gentle hand on his arm before he leant closer to him, whispering something in his ear – an important something, for Mordil paled and gazed at me, looking as shaken as someone who has just found a poisonous snake hidden under his pillow. "That can't be," he murmured, but there was no disbelief in his face, only disappointment and sorrow.

Whatever Arasceleg had said, it had cost me Tanglinna's trust, and while it was bad enough to know that my one defender had been turned away from my cause, it hurt more that I had perhaps lost his friendship along with his support.

My heart went cold, and I straightened, no the humble thief any more, but a Noldorin warrior speaking to a hostile king of Sindar and Silvans. Now that I had lost almost all that mattered, I could at least go down with pride and dignity. "As _'this'_ only exists as a wild, unfounded suspicion in some overimaginative minds, there is nobody involved in it at all. Nevertheless, I demand" – oh, yes, this was a demand, not a humble plea – "that word be taken to Finduilas of Nargothrond. If my word is not deemed trustworthy enough in these illustrious circles, hers will perhaps convince you of Sharhur's identity and character... and of Eliant's." Despair would return once I was in a bleak cell, shackled as befitted an almost-murderer, but for now, I was past the point of fearing anything or anybody.

"Finduilas of Nargothrond is dead." The king was angry as well now. "What exactly do you take us for? Fools?"

"Fools indeed. _Pretentious_ fools." I would have liked to slap someone, preferably that inept king, or to smash Laebrui's head against Nimdir's or against the nearest wall, but some last measure of civility caused me to use mere words.

"She is in Laketown..." This was Tanglinna, his voice quiet and weary. "Shall I fetch her...and Gwindor?"

Thranduil stared at his Master Archer, probably doubting his sanity, and finally shaking his head. "Gwindor, too?" He looked at me, and if his gaze had not said _'liar'_ already, his words would have shown me what he thought of my claims. "You will have much to answer for if even one thing you have said turns out to be false. – Very well, take him away."

Ecthelhador instantly moved to push me from the room, probably glad that this was over, and so I had already crossed the doorstep when I heard Thranduil give one last order, he one that would seal my fate: "Go inform Eliant of Rivendell what has happened." Arasceleg was only too glad to elbow his way past us to do as bidden.

"And the two of you are to say nothing of any of this to anyone. Now go!"

This was meant for Laebrui and Nimdir, but I hardly heard the words any more. _Go inform Eliant_…That settled it. A week, two at most, and then, I would be fed to the spiders.

"Old Business"

Elves live too often in the past. This is perhaps the curse of being what we are. Men come upon Arda, live their lives and die. We do not. We linger beneath the moon and the stars, singing out our lives and those of others, never forgetting what has gone before no matter how many years have come and gone. The days of the First Age can be as alive and real as those of the present one.

Perhaps that is why what Arasceleg said to me affected me the way it did: "We fear it is the old business again. You must be on your guard. He may be in league with them. Be wary."

Until that moment I would never have considered the ridiculous accusation leveled against Alagaith, but then the words had been whispered in my ear and my old fears, which have never remained buried for very long, resurfaced. Perhaps my recent visit to the south made it all the more vivid in my mind, for it was too easy to go from seeing the image of their graves that I had recently left to seeing their dead bodies on the floor of our small talan, the symbol, _his _symbol painted on the wall behind them…in their blood so I would know that _he_ had done this and no one else.

I did not want to believe what was said. I had told Alagaith that I _did_ believe he was innocent, and it was important that I truly did. This was not Nargothrond. I truly did need to believe in him, but Arasceleg's words had shaken me, words that held a power over me as no others did.

_The old business…._

Any who had lived in Greenwood with us in the south at Emyn Duir knew what the 'old business' was, the old business that I was supposed to leave behind me but couldn't. And now it appeared the 'old business' was being spoken of once more, but not by me. I never spoke of it, not with anyone. I had told Linlote of my loss, of my beautiful Calina, my light and my life, of our son, but not the cause of her death, not what I had found in our little talan which was long vanished, yet the emotions still haunted me. Not who had brought it about.

I left the palace feeling lost and dazed, hardly able to put my feelings into any sort of order, not even aware that Thranduil had motioned for someone to follow me. My thoughts were too befuddled, too lost, confused and jumbled to be aware of where I was going, and I was surprised to find myself standing below my house, staring up the ladder.

"I must go to Laketown," I murmured as I climbed upward. "I must get Finduilas and Gwindor. I must…."

Standing before the door, I shook my head.

_The old business…._

I opened the door, trying to organize my thinking enough that I would take what was needed for my short journey and no more, that I would know what to say….

And he was there….

"You are…." He began, and then, "Oh, it is you Master Tanglinna." He was smiling at me, but he looked…guarded as if he was not certain what he should do or say. Clearly it was not me that he expected to walk through the door.

_You can never trust an orc_.

This is a well known saying, its veracity proven time and again over the years, and to find one standing in my house now, now when I was feeling so uncertain and scared, was unexpected and unwanted. I hesitated outside the door, ready to flee back down the ladder if necessary.

"I…What are you doing here?" The voice that emerged from my mouth sounded very unlike mine for though I could not allow myself to believe that Alagaith was in league with Sgurush, Seven might well be.

_You can never trust an orc._

My right hand twitched, but I resisted the urge to raise it to my chest, to the scar that I kept hidden, the one that marred my chest from breastbone to groin…his mark…Sgurush's Dark Mark.

"It is quite impolite of me to enter your home without your bidding; I apologize." Seven moved toward me then continuing to speak. "But as One-Eye had invited me to stay for dinner, I thought you would not mind."

I stepped back onto the porch, putting as much distance between us as I could.

"Alagaith…invited you for dinner?"

I studied his dark face, looking for some sign, any small thing that would tell me his true intentions. I had careless blundered here unarmed….

"Yes," he answered, a slight smile curving his lips. "Alagaer and the little one will be here shortly; they just decided to send me here already, as there are suspiciously many warriors around right now, as if they were searching for someone…." He shrugged, grinning with amusement. "I would not like to be found."

Of course he would not want to be found, and any other time I might have smiled and agreed, but not tonight, not when….

Alagaer and the little one….I had forgotten about them. What could I say to them? They needed to know what had happened, but…but….

My thoughts were still so shattered, so fragmented that I could not form anything coherent in my mind. I have seldom been this afraid except when Sgurush was involved: so long ago when I had been but a child and he attacked my sister and me, killing her and marking me, leaving me for dead, and then when he had come to our little talan in Emyn Duir, slaughtering Riwmegor and Celair…and our son.

My eyes flicked to her picture, and I could not prevent what I had seen that day from slipping into my mind filling it with renewed horror, grief, and fear.

"Are you here to kill me?" I hissed at Seven, wishing that he would say yes, so at least I would know, at least I could fight….

He looked shocked and confused, but then his eyes widened slightly in comprehension and I tensed, but he looked suddenly very sad.

"No. Why would I wish to kill you? Because I am an orc? Is that what you believe?"

Of course that was what I believed! He was an orc, and you could not trust orcs, but…but….

"It is not because of what you are…an orc…but…." But you could be one of _his_, one of Sgurush's men, and then race did not matter. I lifted my chin defiantly, and said, "They have accused Alagaith of plotting to kill me. They saw you and Alagaith in the wood…exchanging swords and you and he…spoke of doing away with someone…me." The words fell from my lips in a rush of panic-laced fear, and I had to pause before I could ask what I needed to, learn what I needed to know. "Did _he_ send you?" The words were whispered, barely, and I could not even say the name out loud; I could not voice the word I hated above all else, the name of the one that had destroyed so much of my life. I was such a coward….

"Who, Alagaith?"

He looked horrified himself, but then another light blossomed in his eyes. "You must not believe this! He would never harm you, or send anybody to harm you." His eyes changed once more, and he looked more like an orc, deadly and vicious. "Who accused him?"

"What does it matter who accused him?" I growled, though I knew what he was thinking. "It was not Eliant of Rivendell," I muttered, a new suspicion growing. Was that why they had told me about Nargothrond? So Eliant might be blamed for my death?

No…no! That would have been too elaborate a plan for anyone…unless Eliant was in on this…if he were one of them also….No! My fear was too overwhelming and nothing was making sense. Linlote would never do this to me…no. And yet….

"What am I supposed to believe?" I cried. "Why did you bring him his weapons? He was hiding them when I came here earlier - _hiding them_!" Linlote had never deliberately hid anything from me before…had he? I did not want to believe that he would do something like this, to me or to anyone else, and yet the seed of doubt had been planted in my mind.

_The old business…._

"What am I supposed to believe?" I spat at him, the words more accusation than anything else.

Suddenly he grabbed me by the collar of my tunic and pulled me inside, pushing the door shut. I spun toward him and brought my knee up – hard! – between his legs. He stumbled back, falling against the door, but then there was a dagger in his hand.

"Easy, silly!" he hissed through clenched teeth. "I mean you no harm." He drew a breath and then, "There are _elves_ out there! Couldn't you smell their stench?"

I stared from Seven to where the seven little bows were in the corner behind me, and then back at him. "You are in Mirkwood," I snarled, my eyes narrowed. "This is our land so there are _elves_ out there!" They had not taken this from us yet, those stinking orcs!

I took one step backward, my eyes riveted on him and the cold glitter of silver in his hand. I remembered what they had done to my Celair with a dagger that was probably not unlike that one.

How could it have come to this? I felt betrayed by Linlote, betrayed and heartbroken…only it had not been betrayal, perhaps he had never been my friend at all, merely used the semblance of friendship to get close enough to me to achieve this. Tears burned in my eyes and I flung myself toward the bow.

"Stay where you are," he growled, and as I turned. The dagger he held was ready to be thrown and already I was pulling taut the string and reaching for the arrows in my own quiver that had fallen to the floor. Then the door opened, allowing me the moment I needed to nock the arrow.

Holding the small bow in my hands brought back the memory of the first time I had encountered Sgurush, the time I felt that if I had been a better archer, I could have saved my sister's life. At least the only life in danger this time was mine. I was a much better archer now!

It was not Sgurush that stood in the doorway, but Alagaer, followed by Alagant who was carrying a large trout. They both halted on the doorstep, looking uncertain.

"Now what are you two playing?" Alagaer asked, looking as if he did not know what to make of what he was seeing.

Weariness threatened to overwhelm me and I tossed the bow aside, lifting my chin defiantly.

"Be done with it," I muttered through clenched teeth. I just wished it over. I was tired of this game with Sgurush.

Seven moved forward and picked up the bow, frowning.

"You should not treat a good bow like this. To think they told me you were a _Master Archer_!" He shook his head, - I was glad to see that he was limping slightly – and placed the abused bow on the bed, muttering something unflattering. I watched him with wide eyes, trying to force my breathing back to normal, wondering if he had not finished the job he had come for because they were present. Alagant held up the trout for my inspection.

"We caught a fish, Master Tanglinna!" He tried to smile, but sensed the tension in the room. "Is _ada _not here?"

"No, Alag'_luth_," Seven answered, turning to look at the boy. "They accused him of trying to murder this fool."

Alagant looked stricken, his arms sinking to his side, the fish falling to the floor.

I gazed at the three of them, a very strange tableau of anger and confusion, fear. I did not know what to say or do, so I rounded on Seven, glaring at him.

"You won't get another chance at this," I said in a low voice. "I know who you are now. You won't come on me unawares again."

_You must be on your guard. Be wary…._

I had let him know that I was on guard now, and wary of him.

But before he could answer me, Alagaer growled, "You _believe _them." It was an accusation, not a question. I was the betrayer, having betrayed Alagaith's trust in me. I was at fault. He made that quite clear. "So this is why the swordmasters are on the prowl right down in the clearing. Guarding you, hm? A pity they did not spot the two of us early enough to protect your precious life."

The words hurt, more than they should have. He saw only one side of this, that his son had been wronged. Nothing else mattered. I should not have to defend myself or my actions, but I did. He had to see why I was so confused, why I doubted.

"I did not want to believe them. I did _not_ believe them. I went there to defend him, but…but…."

I glared defiantly at him, hating him for making me do this. My fingers moved to unfasten my tunic and then the shirt beneath it, pulling them roughly aside to bare my chest… and the scar that marred it. Though it was very old, it was still visible, the shape unmistakable.

"Tell me what the truth is then!" I demanded of him, hoping that I was not trembling as much as I feared I was.

Alagaer was no longer glaring daggers at me with his eyes, but staring wide-eyed in shock and even Seven looked taken aback.

Had I been wrong?

"This is Sgurush's mark," he said quietly, meeting my eyes, and his face filled with…compassion? This could not be. "Small wonder you fear all orcs. How did you survive _that_?"

"He has not sent you?" I whispered tremulously, hardly daring to think I had been so cursedly wrong. "_Any _of you?" Had I been wrong? Iluvatar forgive me! I had wronged them all miserably! I would never be able to make this up to them. Oh, Linlote! Forgive me!

"Sent us?" Alagaer looked helpless. "You believe _we_ are the minions of an infamous assassin and out to kill you?"

Alagant was sniffling, the hurt and betrayal he felt showing so clearly in his eyes as he gazed at me.

"What am I supposed to believe?" I whispered. How could I make them see? If they had said that Linlote was plotting to murder anyone, even myself, I would not have believed it…but for the old business Arasceleg had whispered in my ear. "I have feared that he would come for me again." I shook my head, backing slowly up against the wall, turning to look at Celair's picture, and when I spoke again it was to her. "He took everything from me, everything I cared about; and now…" And now I was a great fool and had ruined the friendship I had with Linlote, destroyed it all on my own because of the old fear that would not die, the old business….

"I was going to Laketown to get Finduilas to speak for Alagaith. Yes," I glared at them, daring them to disbelieve me. "I was going to help him…and I still will."

I turned from them abruptly, not wanting them to see the tears in my eyes. I stalked into the bedroom, throwing a few things into a pack. Yes, I was still going to Laketown; they would have my help whether they wanted it or not. It was the only thing I could do for these people I had so wronged.

TBC

Thank you again to all our readers and reviewers! 


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8 – Uncomfortable Visits

Part the First

After the mild spring days that had cosseted us, the dank, narrow cell seemed colder than it had appeared in winter, even though it probably was not. I did not mind; the cold and emptiness suited me just fine, as they mirrored the state of my heart quite well. I was past the first shock of being imprisoned yet again, past the outrage of being shackled like a dangerous malefactor who might turn against his captors at any moment, even past feeling hurt and past the need to move and prove that I was still alive.

There was a nice grey wall right in front of me, and staring at its comforting emptiness without really seeing it was all I wanted right now. Being dead, cold and unfeeling had its advantages.

I could easily have sat through a trial without even saying a word to defend myself in this state, and I am eternally grateful to Eliant that he undertook it to break me out of my frozen sorrow, albeit unwittingly.

I had not paid much heed to the steps that had descended the steep dungeon stairs, but the sorrowful sigh with which he announced his presence made me turn my head.

"Poor dear Alagaith." His voice was filled with pity that could have seemed genuine, just like the elaborate mask of compassion and disappointment that hid his true face.

Ecthelhador was hovering in the background; he had probably received instructions not to leave the intended victim of my alleged murder scheme alone with me, even though there was a solid oaken door between us.

"How kind of you to visit, Eliant." Somewhere in a corner of my mind, I found the necessary bit of sarcasm to spice my voice with.

I should not even have tried. Eliant's gaze remained wistful and benevolent, like that of a dear old friend strong enough to acknowledge an unpleasant truth about an acquaintance. "It is the least I can do for you...or for your father. He will be heartbroken doubtless."

I rose to my feet at this, transforming the flicker of anger I felt into movement to prevent myself from shouting at him helplessly. "I fear my father would not appreciate your help." In fact, I was quite certain that my poor old heartbroken father was sharpening a battle axe even now, planning to bury it in Eliant's skull as soon as possible. "And then, it is customary anyway to decline such an offer, is it not?"

I wanted him to know that I was well aware that he had not _offered_ his help and kindness; he had forced it upon me in a display of good manners and feigned honour that I found quite sickening. If there had been any sort of justice on Arda, he should have been the one locked up and in shackles… Yet he was the brave, noble visitor.

At least, the smile that played around my lips made him take a step back. "I never realized that your hatred of me would bring you to this point. Though perhaps, after what happened in Nargothrond, it was to be expected." He did not elaborate. Maybe he had already told Ecthelhador his version of the tale, or perhaps, he was aware that not stating too much would keep the captain curious about our conversation. "I truly hoped you had changed your old ways."

There was a certain shabbily ironic cheer about the clank of my chains, as if they wished to answer to the soft ting of the little bells sewn to the hem of the coat he was wearing today, a very Noldorin garment, as out of place in these woods as he himself was. When I had been a young boy, I had possessed a similar cloak myself, full of little silver bells, and even though my father had later claimed his main reason for giving it to me had been his concern that I would wander off and fall into the river Narog head first if he could not hear just where I was all the time, it had seemed like a very adult and proud thing to me back then. Back then... Back then, the world had still been a good place, and I had been happy with it and myself, with 'my old ways', as he called them. I decided to tell him so. "Truly? And why, pray tell, would I have changed? There was a time when I liked myself quite well, you know." I forced a jaunty grin, and it was not even as difficult as I had assumed it would be. For all the cold and emptiness I had felt earlier, there was no despair in me now, not even much fear.

But Eliant would not be prodded into any sort of hasty reaction. He slowly shook his head, melancholy filling his grey eyes. "I wish I could help you in some way," he announced, sounding so sincere that he doubtlessly fooled Ecthelhador; he could not fool me. "But I fear there is probably nothing anyone can do for you now. I understand that even your good 'friend' Master Tanglinna has deserted you."

This was when the game turned into deadly earnest. Eliant _had_ fooled me, after all; he had not come to play with me or to demonstrate his generosity, patience and forgiveness in front of the captain, but to deliver a fatal blow.

_I understand that even your good 'friend' Master Tanglinna has deserted you…_

The cruel words echoed in my ears, and all the helplessness I had wanted to hide must have shown only too clearly for the fraction of a moment, for I believed him instantly. I had seen Tanglinna's expression when Arasceleg had whispered his secret message into his ear, and I knew he was not enough of a skilled liar merely to pretend that he believed the charges levelled at me. He did believe them.

This knowledge stung, strangely enough not even because I felt as if I were reliving the last days of my time at Nargothrond, friends suddenly turning away, according a silly accusation more worth than my word. The true pain lay in being aware that he thought me capable not of any random crime, but of harming _him_, as if our friendship, my gratitude towards him, our shared days and even our adventure in the goblin lair were not worth anything. He doubted my honesty on a far more important level than that of factual accuracy, and while I had been accused in the course of my life of being a traitor, a thief, a battlefield robber, a bad son, an orc-friend, a vagabond and a general nuisance, only Mordil had ever assumed that I was a disloyal friend capable of turning into an enemy at any time.

Willing down my feelings of hurt and betrayal, I smiled again; I would give Eliant and Ecthelhador the cold would-be kinslayer they apparently wanted. "Has he, indeed? If so, he is wise." Wise it was indeed; being my friend was certainly not convenient for anybody right now.

Eliant had not finished yet. "You don't seem very surprised, Alagaith. It cannot be easy being abandoned by one's friends. Or is it true that you intended to kill him as well? Truly, you have changed more than I could ever have thought possible. Perhaps that is why Master Tanglinna has left Mirkwood. Fearing that one who called himself a friend must have broken his heart. That must be a terrible feeling, hm?"

I wondered if he really knew what it felt like to be the betrayed, not the betrayer, or if this was a subtle joke of sorts, meant to remind me that now, Tanglinna probably thought of me as my father had thought of Eliant for centuries now.

Imagining myself at the receiving end of such disappointment and disdain was not pleasant indeed, but it was something else that caught my attention. "He has _left Mirkwood_?"

I was not talking to Eliant any more, but to Ecthelhador, waiting for him to confirm this information, or rather _not_ to confirm it, for certainly, this could not be true? Tanglinna would never simply leave Mirkwood; this was where his friends were, and his duty, his 'little archers' as well as his king. He belonged here. This was his home. He could not have left!

And yet, Ecthelhador would not meet my eye. "He has left," he finally admitted, still not looking at me. "Though he was told not to, and well...I don't know how he avoided the guards, but he did."

When he gazed up at me then, his expression was sad and compassionate, but I barely noticed it. Valar! Tanglinna had left Mirkwood!

Halfway against my will, I felt self-pity and anger give way to a profound sadness, not because of Mordil's behaviour, but on his behalf. If he had left his woods, rejecting the comfort that had lasted him through more terrible times than this, through the loss of his family and later that of his friend Oropher, he had to be heartbroken indeed. What lies had they told him to make him believe what he evidently believed? He was a victim of this as much as I was.

However, if Mordil was truly gone, this meant that my one hope of getting out of this unharmed had left as well. No verdict could have been more damning than this utter rejection of our friendship, this refusal to believe that there was at least a slim chance that a harmless explanation would present itself. Why was _I_ still here? Merely to grant Eliant the triumph of watching everything from my imprisonment over the trial right down to the inevitable spider-feeding with this hypocritical smile of his? No… I would be gone before he could start crying fake tears, that I promised myself.

But first, this conversation had to be finished. "Perhaps this was a wise decision as well." There was little emotion in my voice. "This is not a good place." No, it was not, and I had a distinct feeling that the spiders, goblins, black squirrels and treacherous paths were not the reason why Mirkwood had earned its name. The true darkness here resided in Dorwinion-clouded brains.

Ecthelhador looked uncomfortable, but not malevolent, as if he would have liked to say a comforting word, but of course, both his position and Eliant's presence stilled his tongue.

Predictably, Eliant did have an answer. "_Is_ there any good place...for you? Clearly..." He shook his head, interrupting himself and turning to face Ecthelhador instead, he mouthed: "I cannot stay longer. I simply cannot believe..." Even more quietly, he added: "His poor, poor father."

I turned away; if he expected praise in the form of prolonged attention for his performance, he would certainly not receive it from me.

"I have nothing more to say, captain," Eliant finished with a sigh of sorrow, and I could hear his steps moving away.

Ecthelhador lingered. "I am sorry," he murmured, too quietly to be heard by the valiant captain of Rivendell who was already halfway up the stairs; then, he was gone as well, and I was alone again.

Part the Second

Much progress had been made in Laketown and one could see that once rebuilt it would be a more magnificent place than it had been before Smaug had breathed down his fire and destruction. I did not give the industry the attention it merited as I hurried down the narrow street that led to the hut that Alagaith and his family had inhabited, hoping that Fin and Gwin were there….Finduilas and Gwindor….

It looked no different except for the small bright patch of brave flowers that grew beside the doorstep than it had when I had been here those few months before to inform Alagaer that his son was being released from the dungeon and was going to start his new life. Oh, the irony of that! Now I was coming here to say that he was back in that dungeon, probably the exact same one as Ecthelhador had little imagination in that regard. I raised one hand and knocked on the door, wondering what I would say. There was no easy or good way to tell them what had happened. All the truly meaningless words I had gone through were just that: worthless and pointless.

"You are looking for the elves?"

I turned to see a wizened creature peering out of the window of the small hovel next door, her eyes bright with curiosity. It was still rather strange to see humans living so closely with 'the elves' as she called them. And not only elves, but dwarves as well. Laketown was unique in the fact that all races appeared to be at home here, not holding themselves apart as they did elsewhere.

"Yes," I answered her, nodding. "Do you know where they are?"

My heart plummeted. What if they were far away and inaccessible to me? Who would plead Alagaith's case then? Worse, I feared that if they did not come, it would prove that Alagaith was lying about them…well, about Finduilas. I was the one that had mentioned Gwindor. It was hard enough for me to believe that these two were the same tragic elves we sang songs about.

The woman shrugged, fussing with her shawl of soft grey wool. I noticed that her fingers were gnarled and twisted with age; the veins on the backs of her hands were blue and bulging. I found them fascinating. The Second born were very different.

"Now where he is, I do not know…." A sly smile crossed her face, her wrinkles more pronounced. "If I were _her_, I would be worried if my husband was gone so very often, but she seems calm enough." She shook her white head and murmured, "And they say you elves are so wise…."

I wondered where _her_ husband was if she distrusted men so.

"But perhaps," she continued, "young people are foolish everywhere? Is she young?"

The question was preposterous since this was Finduilas she was speaking of, but how could this old one know that she was living next to a Nargothrondian princess beloved by Gwindor, an elven prince who was now her companion, and beloved of Turin son of Hurin of the Third House of the Edain and Morwen Eledhwen of the First House. I felt a wry smile press my lips. I doubted any of those names would mean much to this woman. She had her own concerns…about her pretty neighbor whose husband was not here as oft as he should be.

"She is not young," I answered, suddenly realizing she had skillfully avoided answering my question, "and they have always spent time apart." More time than this woman could imagine, more time than she would live. "Do you know where she might be? I would be grateful for any help you could offer." I forced a smile to my lips, though I felt my anxiety building. This was taking too long. I did not have time for a polite conversation with anyone at this time.

"She is over at the builders' tents….Always busy drawing plans and even helping with the stonemasonry." The old woman shook her head, her eyes holding something of disapproval. "She should be back in an hour or two. Would you like to have a cup of tea while you wait for her?" Her eyes were back on me, bright and hopeful, and I could not help wonder why she would invite a complete stranger to tea…I never took tea with anyone I had known less than 751 years….

"Thank you, but I cannot. I must find her now." I bowed to her, pressing my hand to my heart and hoping I did not seem impolite or impatient. "Thank you again for your help." The almost-a-smile graced my lips, and I hurried down the road toward the builders' tents before she could detain me further with offers of tea.

I wondered vaguely where Gwindor had gone, thinking somewhat bitterly that he should be here now that Alagaith needed him. And yet…I had not been there when he needed me….

I found her just as the old woman had said, inside the builders' tent bent over a table on which lay several scrolls that undoubtedly held drawings and plans of Laketown. She was speaking quietly and earnestly to her companion, a dwarf with a flowing dark beard. She was speaking in the tongue of the Dwarves as fluently as if she were not a Noldorin elf at all. I should not have been surprised. She was Finrod's niece and had doubtlessly held many conversations with the dwarves that had helped to build the great city of Nargothrond extending and enlarging what the dwarves had already delved and built in the caves by swift flowing Narog.

"My lady?" I called quietly, trying to think of her merely as Alagaith's friend Fin, not as Finduilas daughter of Orodreth, Finrod Felagund's niece, Galadriel's niece…..

She turned toward me, tilted her head slightly. "Master Tanglinna, wasn't it?" Her smile was polite but guarded her eyes like polished glass.

"Alagai-One-Eye has need of you." Such simple words and yet they held so much within their utterance that it was nigh unbearable to say them. I could feel my face tightening, wondering if she would demand to know why he needed her. Earlier that day I had braided my hair, very tightly, very exacting, not one strand out of place. Anyone who knew me well would know that it meant I would give nothing at all if I so chose, tell nothing unless I so decided. This was my battle braid, the braid that I wore for countless years during the battle of Dagorlad, when I had not been myself, but some other creature filled with rage and grief.

But Finduilas merely frowned and murmured, "Excuse me for a moment." She quickly turned around and bid her companion farewell and called to a young boy that stood watching her expectantly. He was probably some stonemason's apprentice judging by his age and the clothing he wore, protected by a leather apron coated with stone dust. She spoke a few words to him and then hurried to my side.

"I surmise the matter is serious, if you come to tell me about it, and not Seven who went to see him but a short time ago."

She fixed her gaze upon me then, a gaze that reminded me uncomfortably of the Lady Galadriel's. I felt as if my heart were laid bare before her regardless of the shields I built around it.

"Seven knew I was coming. It was the least I could do," I muttered hoarsely, feeling my cheeks redden, fearing she had seen what great disservice I had done to Alagaith, that she knew I had failed him when I should have stood by his side, ready to defend him. "Alagaith has been imprisoned and needs you to come and speak for him. Eliant of Rivendell is there and things might go ill," I said, my words tumbling out of my mouth without thought for eloquence or grace. There was need for haste and I was being honest with her. She would know if I was not.

"Eliant." The name was said without inflection and yet it carried great feeling. "Has he repeated his ridiculous old accusation?"

I had to hurry after her for she strode away from me toward the little hut where she lived with Gwindor and Seven.

"He has," I told her, "but that is not why Alagaith is imprisoned."

She looked at me, her eyes filled with exasperations at my reticence to tell her all the details. "Tell me what has happened, Master Tanglinna," she ordered as she opened the door, barely acknowledging the woman who was still peering out her window next door, her eyes filled with slyness, something I did not like for some reason.

"At first," I began, feeling the skin on my cheekbones tightening, "it was said that he…that Alagaith was plotting to…to murder me." I plunged ahead now that the words had been said, and my shameful part in this drama was about to be revealed. "He was hiding swords in my house and…." I still did not know why he had the swords or why he was hiding them, but at this point it hardly mattered.

"This is ridiculous," Finduilas, daughter of Orodreth declared, studying me with those too piercing, keen eyes. Then a derisive smile curved her lips. "Ah, but you had your doubts, I see. You honestly believed he would harm you?"

I had for one horrid moment, and though I knew why I had doubted, I knew she would not listen to any excuses I gave.

"You do not deserve his friendship then." Her voice was calm as she said this, not allowing me time to answer. She turned away to pack a few things she would need for her journey to Gladaran Thamas.

If she thought that I would be surprised by her observation, she would be disappointed. I _did_ not deserve his friendship. Part of friendship was trust, and I had broken that trust, vilely and thoughtlessly. I stared at the hard packed floor beneath my boots and nodded.

"No, I do not deserve his friendship." I blinked back tears, feeling my failure quite keenly, the words cutting my heart like a knife. "I am sorry this has happened. It was never my intention…. Thank you for helping him, lady. He will be glad that some of his friends are true."

"You are sorry." The words could have been an accusation or not. She gave very little of what her true feelings were, so carefully spoken with no inflection to give an indication of what was going on behind those unfathomable eyes. "Will you accompany me to Mirkwood?"

Surely these women of Finarfin's line held powers that no others did for she must have discerned that I did not want to return to Mirkwood, not yet. I had barely admitted this to myself.

"If you feel it is necessary, lady." I would not meet her eyes fearing that like Galadriel, she would discern too much from my gaze, as if she had not already learned too much of me.

"If you wish to stay here, feel free to do so; Flindling will not be back before tomorrow evening. But if you choose to leave, remember to lock the door. Farewell."

I heard her turn toward the door and looked up. Her long hair fell about her like a gilded veil and for a moment she appeared as her aunt did, the great Lady of the Golden Wood. The children of Finarfin were not to be trifled with.

I nodded to myself and moved to open the door for her. I would return for better or worse. I would go home. I needed to be there.

"I shall escort you there, lady." The words were not gallant or elegant, not what she was used to perhaps or what she deserved. She was a legend among our people; she was supposed to be dead. But what did that matter? Alagaith was my one concern and if I could see him even once, tell him why I had faltered and failed him…. I expected no forgiveness, no understanding. I did not deserve any, but I needed to tell him why I reacted as I had.

Our silent journey into Mirkwood was interrupted when night fell, making it unsafe to travel any further. I told her this, asking if she needed to rest.

She smiled mysteriously as if she knew something I did not, but said, "Yes, let us rest. There are goblins and spiders here, I am told?" She lifted one curved brow in what might have been irony.

"Yes. All is not as it should be," I answered, swiftly setting about to make a comfortable place for her, and placing my cloak on the ground for her to sit upon. "A fire is not advisable either, I fear."

I did not feel like holding a conversation at this moment, but I knew I should at least attempt to be kind if she wished to speak. I knew the spiders were restive and we were too near the lair of Gurshak and his companions. I did not want to rouse them either. We needed to return with all haste and I did not want to invite unwanted delays.

"Probably not," she agreed about the lack of fire, "even though it is said that orcs see well in the dark." She was looking off into the trees ahead of us, her thoughts hidden behind her fair face. "I do not know if this is true of spiders as well."

I nodded, leaning against a nearby tree, gazing into the night as well.

"Most…most…. Yes, spiders see well in the dark also." I did not say what had first come to mind, that all creatures of darkness had been blessed with good night vision. I did not think she would appreciate the remark as it included Seven as well. I did not wish to speak of Seven now, not after having thought such ill thoughts of him.

"Do they indeed?"

And he was there, his face a cold mask, eyes like shards of dark ice.

"Most interesting, Master Archer. Is it true as well that spiders are used to execute criminals in your wood, or is that just a silly tale?

My hand was on my dagger when first he had moved into view, my eyes widening with surprise. I forced my hand away from the weapon and said to Seven, who continued to stare at me, "We do not use spiders to enforce justice." What was he speaking of? Was he merely trying to provoke me? Undoubtedly he was still angry at me if his face was any indication of what he was feeling.

And then Alagaer was beside him, looking equally cold and angry. They were united against me; I was the outsider that had ruined their lives, the interloper, unwanted. Alagant held fast to his daerada's hand, his small face pinched and pale.

"No justice indeed," Alagaith's ada said in a tight voice. "I suppose you deal with offenders more swiftly than that? A quick knife in the dark, maybe?"

What was he speaking of? Why had I not heard them approaching? But then they had spent too many years using stealth merely to survive.

"Nothing is going to happen to Alagaith," I hissed. "She will speak for him and I am certain this…this…everything will be cleared up." I was glaring at Alagaer then, perhaps unfairly, but then he knew my secret shame: I had shown him the scar that marked me as someone who could not be counted on to do what was needed. I could not save those that mattered most to me; I had never been able to do this. I could not save my sister, not my family in Doriath, not my wife, our son, not Riwmegor…not Oropher….No one that really mattered to me.

"She need not speak for him anymore," Alagaer continued in a cool voice that betrayed some other emotion. "It would appear he has been…dealt with already."

I paled at his words, stricken. "What? How?" I did not need to ask whom he was speaking of. They would not have executed Alagaith. There had been no time for a trial. This was _not_ Nargothrond and Thranduil was more just than ever Orodreth had been.

"I do not know how, Master Tanglinna, and perhaps, this is for the best. I merely know that there is no way he could have escaped from a locked and barred cell, and that Ecthelhador swears to the Valar he and his men did not let him out."

TBC

Thank you again to our readers and reviewers. Forgive the Part the First and Part the Second. Tree is, per usual, having trouble with formatting certain things. ;P


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: Standard

Thank you to all our readers and reviewers:)We appreciate that you have taken these two silly elves into your hearts!

Chapter 9 – Picking Up the Pieces

**Part the First**

The cell was empty….Though I had known this to be the case before I arrived here, seeing it with my own eyes made it truth, and my heart sank.

Since returning to Gladaran Thamas no one seemed to know anything in regard to where Alagaith had gone or how. No one had ever managed to escape the dungeons of Mirkwood before…except the dwarves which should have told us that it was possible, even if they did have a little help. I knew despite Alagaer's words that Alagaith had not been executed or fed to the spiders, and I was still bristling slightly at his even imagining we would do that, but that did not change the fact that Alagaith was gone.

I turned from my contemplation of the unoccupied cell to glare at the unfortunate Ecthelhador, one brow lifted in inquiry.

"Well? Where is he?" I demanded.

He at least had the grace to look guilty and slightly affronted that I had dared to ask a question that I surely knew he had no answer for.

"Not in there," he muttered, his voice gruff, though his cheeks tinged with embarrassment as if I had accused him of something. "Look for yourself." He opened the door then, heavy oak banded with iron.

The cell was empty but for the bench where the shackles lay in a neat pile of cold heavy links and bracelets of iron beside a carefully folded blanket.

I pointed at them, turning to look at the captain. "Did you put them like that?"

Ecthelhador frowned at me. "No," he growled. "The shackles were _on_ him when I last saw him." He gazed at the too neat blanket, shrugging as if it confused him.

I stared at him for a moment waiting for any sign that he had any idea at all why things were laid out just so because there was a symmetry that was telling. Clearly he had told me the truth; he didn't know. I looked back at the chains, picking up the cold iron shackles that had so recently been about Linlote's poor wrists. Had they really been necessary? I examined the locking device, looking for any sign that they had been picked. Though Ecthelhador did not know what might have transpired, I did.

A wry smile touched my lips. No one had probably thought to check him to see if he had any concealed needles upon his person. I set them down, indeed knowing what had probably happened.

I plucked up the woolen blanket, pressing it against my chest. Yes, Alagaith had escaped. It was that simple. He had probably feared another Nargothrond episode and did not think waiting for a trial whose outcome was already decided – though it wasn't decided, not yet – was in his best interest.

_Linlote, where did you go?_

I gazed down at the blanket noticing the dark stains on one corner, and suddenly rounded on Ecthelhador. "Was he wounded in anyway when you brought him here?"

The good captain frowned, entering the cell to stand beside me. "Wounded? I do not think so…." He looked at the telltale blanket. "What is this?" He knew as well as I did what the stains were, and suddenly his face transformed. He looked horrified that Linlote was injured…concerned that he was hurt in some way.

_Oh, Linlote! Don't you see? This is not Nargothrond. You have friends here!_

"When was the last time you knew he was here?" I asked, wondering how far away he could be by now.

"I saw him when I took Master Eliant down here." He fell silent, gazing up at me, twisting his cap in his hands. "He did not take it well when Eliant told him about you. Alagaith, I mean."

I knew whom he had meant, and shame flooded me once more, my hand tightening on the bloodstained blanket. Eliant had told him….Eliant had told him. "What did _Eliant_ say exactly?" I could well guess what he had said. News of my abrupt departure had spread quickly, even to the Rivendell visitors, and with Eliant turning the events to his advantage….

"He said you believed Alagaith was guilty, and he wondered how you might feel, knowing that a friend betrayed you so terribly," Ecthelhador answered, "something like that."

This was almost too ironic! Eliant of Rivendell was very lucky to be beyond my reach. If he had chanced down the dungeon stairs just now…. Things would not go well for him. And yet, what he had said was true…or nearly so, close enough to hurt.

"Someone was betrayed, but it was not me." Bitterness colored my voice as I lay the blanket back on the bench beside the shackles. Alagaith could be anywhere by now, _anywhere_. Clearly he did not wish to see me or have anything to do with anyone in Mirkwood any longer. Who could blame him….

"Are you certain," I pressed, turning back to the captain, the bleak defeat I felt probably showing too clearly on my face, "no one saw him escape? Was there no blood on the stairs?" I moved into the corridor, studying the dark stone steps leading to the upper reaches. They were clean, no signs that anyone had passed this way injured or not.

Ecthelhador joined me, shaking his head. "No blood anywhere, no other trace, no witness." His gaze slid to the door. "Do you think he escaped on his own, just like that?" He sounded doubtful, as if no one could escape from his dungeons. Hmph. "I mean…Someone could have helped him. Or not helped him, but…_silenced_ him. What if that murderous orc who tried to use him is still about?"

I turned to look at him, seeing that he looked as frightened as he sounded. I sighed impatiently.

"That 'murderous orc' would not hurt him, and Seven is no murderous orc. He does not know where he is either." Perhaps he meant the other orc, Sgurush, but only one thought filled my mind. _Where was he?_ No one seemed to know, not even his family, and Seven certainly counted as one of them. But perhaps…. "Or…maybe they just did not tell me where he went." This was spoken aloud, but more to myself than to my companion. If they did know where he was, why would they tell me? I had deserted Alagaith, I had failed him when he needed my support most. Why would they tell me….

I looked at Ecthelhador, seeing concern in his face anew. He had probably meant Sgurush; the old business. It seemed that no one could merely let it die away, and the fault for that was mine. I reminded them all of what had happened to me when I journeyed south to visit the graves of my family, graves that now lay within orc-infested territory; graves that I risked my life to visit, perhaps still hoping to join them as I had told Oropher that fateful day before he fell in battle.

If I had let my feelings of loss and hopelessness fade away over time, scatter like so many dried leaves in the autumn, perhaps none of this would have happened. Could I learn to release my feelings? Could I learn to release the grip I held on Sgurush, keeping him alive to me and to everyone that knew me? For all I knew he was dead and had been for many years.

"Never mind, Ecthelhador," I sighed. "There is nothing to be done about it now. Thank you." It certainly was not his fault that things had gone like this, though I suspected he would be checking all the locks on the dungeon doors with much diligence. I gazed into the empty cell one last time, and then moved slowly up the steps. Alagaith was gone. I would never see him again…he probably did not _want_ to see me again. The fault was my own.

"You talked to that orc?" Ecthelhador's voice was filled with disbelief, but before I could answer him, if I was going to answer him, he turned away muttering to himself about how things in Mirkwood had gone completely awry lately what with the dwarves, and the war, the elf thief, and now Master Tanglinna was an orc-friend!

"Of course I spoke to him," I rejoined, for though I might have found his musings humorous at some other time, I felt nothing now but sorrow and disappointment, a great weariness descending on me. "Probably for the last time. He is Alagaith's true friend, so you need not worry. I suspect Alagaith joined them and they are long gone from Mirkwood." My voice held all the bitterness I felt, bitterness that things should come to this horrible pass, bitterness that I knew it was almost entirely my fault.

Ecthelhador sighed quietly and said, "Perhaps it is for the best." The key turned in the cell door's heavy lock and he headed away from me toward the guard room, his head bent.

"Undoubtedly," I murmured, turning to move up the stairs once more, hurrying from the palace and across the bridge, not even noticing if anyone saw me or not. For the best…yes, it would probably be for the best…but best for whom?

The cell would not be the only empty place in Mirkwood this night; my little house was suddenly going to be very empty indeed.

**Part the Second**

It is strange to enter a place that once was your home, for however short a time, in a furtive manner, like a thief fearing to be caught at any moment, and well aware that this is not where you belong… Not any more. Taking a seat in the bedroom of the house then, outwardly relaxed, ankles crossed, is even stranger, and yet, this was what I did as I waited for Tanglinna to return home.

"Yes, he _is_ back", Seven had told me earlier that day, shaking his head at my foolish plan, "but you are insane. Why would you risk life and limb merely to bid farewell to a false friend? If I did not know better, I would presume that silly merchant who named you two lovers was right!"

Perhaps I was insane indeed, but then, my friendship with Tanglinna had been a whole twisted chain of seemingly insane decisions. It was doubtlessly insane as well that I simply remained sitting where I was when I finally heard Tanglinna enter the house.

"I am sorry, Linlote."

His words, spoken while he was still in the front room, were a mere whisper, and, as I realized after one moment of wondering how he could possibly have seen me yet, not meant for me to hear.

"I would never have behaved so foolishly if you were still here," he continued, and I knew that he was not talking to an absent friend any more, but to the picture of his dead wife, as was his habit from time to time. "Everything has fallen to pieces, Calina. Everything."

He was right; but he had helped make the world fall to pieces.

His steps drew near then, wearily plodding towards the bedroom.

I waited.

"Alagaith?" I could have mistaken his reaction for a joyous gasp, but it did not escape me that he quickly looked around as if to make certain that there were no assassin orcs hiding in the corners. _"I am sorry, Linlote." _Very sorry indeed, or so it would appear. Why was I here?

"I...Linlote..." At least he sounded quite uncertain and uncomfortable as well. "You are well?"

As well as someone who has head to wriggle out of an iron wristband because picking the second lock on a pair of shackles was not quite possible. "I am fine, thank you." This was ridiculous; we were talking as awkwardly as strangers or distant acquaintances trying to be polite. Given that Tanglinna had not started shouting for the guards yet, I could just as well be honest. "I wished to bid you farewell before leaving for good."

He nodded a bit numbly, as if he had hoped for another reason for my presence. "You did not need to do that," he said quietly. "I...I don't deserve that kindness from you. Linlote..." I noticed the tears in his eyes only then. "I am sorry that...that I doubted you for even a moment. You deserve better." His gaze flitted away, and I realized that he was feeling guilty indeed. I had thought I had reason to be disappointed with him, but for a brief moment, all I felt was compassion.

Everything had fallen to pieces indeed, and it had hurt him just as much as me, if not more.

I rose to my feet and placed a hand on his shoulder, patting it gently to reassure him somehow. "You had every reason to doubt me." Hoping to soften the bitterness that I had detected in my own voice, I smiled a bit. "I am a thief, and an orc-friend. It was folly to expect I could ever be more."

Tanglinna finally looked up again and shook his head. "It had nothing to do with what you are, only with...with what I thought you were for no better reason than..." He interrupted himself and began anew: "I should have known that you were not capable of what they were saying. I _do_ know that you would never harm me...or anyone else...except perhaps that snake from Rivendell who more than deserves to be fed to the spiders one limb at a time." His attempt at a lopsided grin was feeble, and he grew serious once more very soon. "Please forgive me, Alagaith."

I studied him, uncertain if this was a matter of guilt and forgiveness, as he saw it, or something else entirely, merely a dreadful misunderstanding, a failure on my part to comprehend what was going on in his head. "Why did you think then I would wish to kill you?" I did my best to let the question remain just that, a question, instead of making it the accusation it could have been. "Was it what that atrocious captain told you?" After all, he had been ready to fight for me until Arasceleg had whispered his poisonous words into his ear. "I know you must have had a good reason."

Tanglinna was very still for what seemed like a long moment. Then, instead of answering, he withdrew from me, unfastening his tunic and shirt to reveal a scar. Seven and my father had warned me what I would see, but I could not help staring at Sgurush's dark mark, trying not to imagine what agony my friend must have gone through when this had been carved into his skin, a cruel humiliation, an instrument of torture by its very presence.

"I made a very dangerous enemy when I was very young," he began, and this time, he held my gaze. "I thought for a time that perhaps I had killed him...when I shot him in the eye, but..." He hesitated, and the irony that his archenemy was one-eyed was not lost on me, but any attempt at handling this with grim humour forbade itself when he continued: "I told you that Celair and her father and our child were killed on my conception day. I did not say how. _He_ killed them. Sgurush." His right hand traced over the old, half-faded scar, not even leaving out the parts of the pattern that time had erased or altered, and I knew that, to him, the mark had to be as clear and visible as on the first day. "He left his sign on the wall behind their bodies, written in their blood so I would know that he had done this to me. He took everything I loved and destroyed it, and when Arasceleg told me that they feared this was the 'old business' again, I admit I was afraid that...that he had found yet another way to shred my heart, using someone I loved to strike out at me." He closed his eyes, unable to stop another rush of tears. "I am sorry that I could ever think that. There is nothing I could say that would express how I feel having betrayed you in this way."

Having finished his gruesome tale, he turned away, not brusquely as if to close me out of his pain deliberately, but in an oddly resigned manner, as if he expected me to shy away.

I enveloped him in a comforting hug. I had no words for this tale of horrors and never-ending sorrow, and perhaps, there are no words for some things, but I could at least show him that I tried to understand, as well as one who had not gone through the same dark night could try to understand.

"There is no need to ask for forgiveness, Mordil," I finally said. "I do not know if I would have been magnanimous enough to overcome that doubt if I had been in your place. Shall we go and hunt that Sgurush down together? As long as he lurks in the shadows somewhere, you clearly will not be rid of him."

I was quite serious about my suggestion, and not only for Mordil's sake. After all the injustice that had been done, I had the urge to run someone through with a good blade, and Sgurush clearly deserved such a fate.

But Mordil was wiser than I could ever hope to be. He had returned my embrace rather gingerly, but had rested his face against my shoulder; now, he slowly shook his head without lifting it. "I do not know if that would change things. I...I have carried him with me for so long that I do not think anything I could do to him would make that disappear. But...that is not what matters now." Not what mattered now? I would have thought it was all that had ever mattered to him… But now, something else was on his mind indeed. "Where will you go?" His voice was hoarse, with tears or with worry, and when he looked up at me, his sorrowful gaze was hard to bear.

I shrugged. Where would I go indeed? That had never been much of a question ever since I had discovered that I had nowhere to go some time in the first age. "I do not know. Laketown is probably too close, even if Half-Dead and Well-Armed seem to like it there." I hesitated a bit, but then, I decided to say what was on my mind: "I would go back to the dungeons, in order not to cause _you_ any trouble for having brought the thief who could not be trusted here, but being eaten by a spider does not sound like a desirable fate."

"They won't feed you to the spiders." How could he be so certain? "I...I brought Lady Finduilas to speak for you. But..." He paused, and then, he asked the question he had probably been wondering about since before my arrest: "Why did you have the swords Seven brought you? I have been a fool not to ask. If I had, none of this would have happened." He sighed. "_I_ should be the one in the dungeon for causing you so much trouble."

Unfortunately, it did not sound like a joke.

I shook my head. "Right now, I do not believe even Finduilas' honeyed tongue could keep me from ending up condemned." Perhaps I was a coward, but being sentenced to death by spider really did not sound appealing; if it had merely been a swift sword, I might have tried to be brave… The swords! Now it was my turn to sigh and feel guilty. "As for the swords... Legolas and his equally silly young friends put Galion's name on the list for the swordfighting competition. He is too ashamed to try and back out of it, so I have been giving him lessons. He used to bring the swords, but his choice was usually quite poor, and so, Alagant asked Seven to bring me my own swords when he sent him word about Eliant. That is all."

"Have you told Thranduil this?" Mordil would never learn not to think like the honest elf he was; the fact that keeping a friend's secret could be more important than telling a king and judge the complete and utter truth simply did not occur to him. "If you wish it, I will go to the king – who will not feed you to the spiders though there are some people I can think of that _I_ would like to – and tell him what you have said. And I will make Galion go with me to verify it...and Legolas."

I shook my head yet again. "I promised Galion not to reveal his secret, and I told those silly younglings I would not give them away, either. But I did mention Galion's name to the king, so perhaps, he will explain the matter to the king at some point."

At least, he had promised me that he would, but revealing right now that the worthy butler had chosen to overlook my escape attempt would not have been very kind. Galion would still have to live with these elves in the future, after all, while I could just leave, and had to leave… Even if I did not want to. "You need not trouble yourself. Perhaps it is all better like this, even though I shall certainly miss you." Oh, yes, I would, and blinking quite furiously, it occurred to me that, maybe, just maybe, remaining in the dungeons would not have been the worst course of action. I had not trusted Mordil any more than he had trusted me… We were two exceedingly silly elves at times. "I do not really belong here... never did," I continued, willing down the images of peaceful spring days in the king's garden and quiet evenings here, at home, that threatened to shatter my resolve and composure. "Let them believe the wicked thief was an enemy, after all, and ran away."

"No. Your name will be cleared and..." Mordil clasped my hand quite fiercely. "You do belong here, and there are those who want you here...especially this foolish archer." He managed a smile, but there was much worry underneath, almost fear… Fear that I would leave?

I stared at him quite incredulously, wondering if this was still his guilt manifesting itself, or if he really believed that there was some tiny bit of hope that all would be well… If he really wanted me to stay after all I had done. "You really mean that?"

"Of course I mean it!" He did not say _'Silly Noldo!'_, but I could hear it anyway. "Since Oropher died...I...I have not felt...this bond with anyone until you came along in all your splendid skulking glory." He laughed a bit, but he was quite sincere. "I have not allowed anyone to truly be a friend to me since he died at Dagorlad." His laughter turned into a rueful smile then. "I am very good at keeping everyone at arms' length, even Thranduil, though his position makes it hard for him as well, I believe. I...I would miss you greatly if you were to leave, and I hope that you will stay. I _want_ you to stay. Please."

Mordil seldom allowed himself to be so open, so _vulnerable_, and while I flushed a bit at having him beg me to stay, I felt happier and more at peace than I had ever done at Mirkwood. That dear, silly archer was not merely trying to do a good work by reforming a thief who happened to be his friend; he felt he _needed_ me. "I do not deserve you and your friendship. Not at all." I grinned a bit to keep myself from hugging him yet again. "Could you not have fallen into Gurshak's lair with some worthy warrior by your side?" I winked, and my decision was made. "Very well. If you want me to stay, I will stay. But not in the dungeons, as long as Eliant is around and knows where to find me."

There was relief on Mordil's face, and then, sheer happiness and joy. "I suppose you could go ask Gurshak to put you up in his house for a time," he drawled, eyes shining. "Or..." Suddenly serious again, he interrupted himself. "Does your father know where you are?"

"Of course he..." Of course he knew. And _of course_, he had not told the wicked Silvan who had failed his sweet _tithen aith_ that he knew. "Oh, he can be one wicked old elf! He made you believe he did not know, did he?" I would have to have a word with my father in the near future; there had to be some room even in _his_ stubborn mind for the realization that Mordil was not an enemy.

Tanglinna's eyes had narrowed a bit, and when he smiled, his expression was wolfish, perhaps even wargish. "It appears he and I must exchange words at some point, hm?" Poor _ada_. I would really have to warn him of what might be coming… "You can stay here if you like. It appears I must speak with someone else first, if you will allow it. I know that Legolas can be too...full of mischief at times, but he certainly will repent of his role in this and go to his father. I won't mention who told me of this. When he is feeling guilty he has the tendency to confess when the right...pressure is applied to his sensibility." He grinned and winked; obviously, the pieces of his world were already reassembling themselves.

I smiled a bit. "Go then and apply the right sort of pressure, oh Master Archer of Mirkwood. I will not run away again."

No. I would not.

Mordil grinned once more and moved out of the room, only to return to throw his arms about me in a quick, fierce hug. "All will be well, Linlote. All will be well. I promise."

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

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Chapter 10 – Conversations

Part the First

Speaking with young Legolas had been easy. He has a good heart that only occasionally goes astray, usually if Tavor Heledirion is involved. Though these moments where his lapse in common sense are rare now, well, rarer than they once were, he is quick to rectify them when he must. A few well spoken words and he had left to find his father…hopefully he did not stop along the way to get Brethil and Tavor for moral support. It would delay things.

With the easier of the two tasks done, I headed into the wine cellars where I had been informed Galion was working. I thought to find him counting wine bottles or tubs of butter or rounds of cheese, but instead I found him in a well hidden spot behind some ancient oaken barrels. He was not working at all…He held a sword in one hand and was going through the motions of one of the fighting maneuvers I had seen Vardamar and Thinruth teaching their students.

Many people ignore Galion, unless something they want has gone missing or there aren't enough bottles of Rhunish wine to serve with dinner. He is a good fellow, good at his job, generally quiet and unassuming, staying out of trouble for the most part, though he did have something to do with the dwarves' escape last fall. He should have known better than to drink that much Dorwinion with Ecthelhador. Ah, but we are all afforded occasional lapses in judgment.

He moved fluidly, gracefully, elegantly. I watched with no small measure of jealousy. He had clearly learned quite a bit under Linlote's tutelage. He halted mid-move, correcting his posture, then started at the beginning of the maneuver once more, each movement flowing into the next. He was taking this quite seriously, and I admit I hoped he would win this ridiculous contest.

But before that could happen….

I crossed my arms over my chest, cocked my head, and cleared my throat.

Galion started, dropping the sword, all his grace clattering on the stone floor with it as he spun toward me.

"Master Tanglinna! I…I was just…."

He was just practicing for the competition, which I knew, but since I was not _supposed_ to know this….

He hung his head looking every bit like the younglings when I would reprimand them in their archery classes, having caught them doing things they knew they shouldn't be.

"I did not realize," I began, "that you had become quite so skilled with a sword, Galion. Has Vardamar been giving you lessons?" I bent to pick up his sword, handing it back to him hilt first.

He took the weapon, looking abashed and unhappy.

"No. Please do not tell him!" he cried. "I…I" Embarrassment painted his face a lovely shade of crimson, and he eyed me a bit reproachfully for having found out his great secret.

"Thinruth then?" I asked, knowing that it was not the second swordmaster that was teaching him either. "Oh, never mind. I merely came to fetch a bottle of Combe. They are over here, yes?" I moved to one of the many wine racks, making a show of inspecting the bottles. "Why _are _you practicing with the sword down here, Galion?"

Galion moved unerringly to the right bottles, and handed me one, not meeting my eyes.

"I-you will not tell anybody about this, will you?" he asked quietly, desperately. "Very well," he sighed in resignation. "I am practicing for the swordfighting competition the day after tomorrow."

I played my part fairly well, even if I do say so myself. My brows rose in surprise.

"The swordfighting competition? I did not realize you were interested in participating in that sort of thing. You look like you will do very well."

Flattery never hurt, and I must admit I _did_ think he would do very well. Too often, those who excel at anything become complacent, certain their talent or skill will bring them to easy victory over others who are not as good as they are, but it is often someone like Galion, who was putting everything he was into this, his heart, mind and soul that could sometimes surprise and topple those who felt they were the best.

"Please do not mock me," Galion said, looking pained as he gazed over at me. "I know very well that this," he raised the sword a bit, "is quite pathetic, and I would never have entered the competition if I had not been at the receiving end of the most thoughtless and cruel joke." He lowered his voice, eyes darting toward the doorway. "You can certainly imagine who is behind it."

I did know very well who was behind it, and even if I had not been told by Alagaith, I would have guessed. If anyone had been at the receiving end of such a prank, they would always assume, and usually be right in the assumption, that the Tricksy Trio had planned it. But for him to think I was mocking him…. I sighed.

"I am not mocking you, Galion. You _do_ look like you will do very well, not that I am the expert," I fear my voice sounded bitter as I said, "obviously." No. I was hardly the expert as I had proved beyond a shadow of a doubt when I had been forced to duel Linlote before the court. "But yes," I continued, "I can imagine who would play such a cruel joke on you. Did you speak to those three about this?" I doubted he had. "I mean, you clearly decided that you would go ahead with the competition."

He shook his dark head.

"No, and I will not speak with them. I thought that, if I go through with the competition and do not make a complete fool of myself, it will perhaps serve as a deterrent….It will show them that I am not afraid, won't it?" He gave me a lopsided, hopeful smile, which I returned.

He was very brave; many would have run to Thranduil to complain about his son's behavior, but not dear Galion.

"You are clearly wiser than I am. I think that might work; and you do appear to have become good enough not to make a fool of yourself at all. I compliment your prowess." I meant every word that I said and could see that he was pleased, but there was another reason that I had come here. "I think Alagaith would be very pleased," I said as nonchalantly as I could, "to see you do this…if only he was here." It was almost too easy to look unhappy. Too much could still go wrong, and Linlote might leave anyway. He might have no choice. Galion would have to aid us!

"Well," he said, still smiling, looking flushed with pleasure, "he said I was making good progress and should practice in secret, and that it would be enough if we met for one last time tomorrow and…." His eyes widened and he clamped a hand over his mouth. "I mean, that _was_ the plan when he was here." He nodded, pleased with his careful falsehood. "He was my teacher, you know."

I could have told him that he had obviously been around Brethil a bit too much since his tongue was running away from him so easily.

"I wondered," I began, "since you said neither Vardamar nor Thinruth were your teachers. Alagaith is an excellent swordsman, very patient no doubt. Did he…did he speak with you at all before…before he vanished?"

He looked as guilty as I felt for forcing this issue and feigning ignorance in this matter. He laid the sword on the nearest barrel and I wondered if he would answer me or if he had grown suspicious of me.

"Yes," he admitted reluctantly. "I was down here when he…vanished, and we exchanged a few words." He straightened then, his face changing from the abashed butler to "Galion the Gallant", famous slayer of monstrous beasts, as Thranduil had once called him. He may only have slain one monstrous beast, and in doing so saved my pitiful life, but his bravery was not to be questioned. "But I will not tell you where to find him or how to trap him. Whatever may be, he is not a murderer."

I thought it wonderful that he would defend Alagaith so, better than I had done. And yet this did not please me, this reminder that I believed, once, that Alagaith was just that, a murderer.

"I know that, Galion," I countered sharply. "I do not want to hunt him down or trap him. I already know where he is, so you are not going to betray him, but… We need your help, Galion. I…I don't want him to leave, nor does he truly wish to, but if he is going to be allowed to stay…well…..The king must know more of the details surrounding this…this wonderful mess we have made." I smiled a bit, knowing that because Galion's heart was true, he would help. In many ways he was the best of us all. "I know what a noble person you are, you did save my life after all, and I have not forgotten that. We need to convince the others that Alagaith is no murderer, regardless of my foolish actions earlier." My smile turned sardonic. No, my actions had made this mess a great deal messier.

Galion swallowed noisily, and I knew that he was worried about telling his part in all this. I knew that this would not be easy; telling Thranduil that he had helped someone accused of plotting murder….I could understand his reluctance. Not to mention the fact that he would have to tell why he had enlisted Alagaith's aid.

"You mean I must go to the king and …and …tell him about _this?_" he gulped. "To explain why Alagaith needed those swords he is accused of hiding?" There was one moment when I thought he might refuse my request, but then he grinned. "I suppose I cannot fight the warg again instead?" He gazed at me with resignation in his eyes, though he was still smiling faintly. "Very well then…let us go and get this over with quickly."

He turned abruptly, heading for the stairs before I had time to register what he had said. Galion is the sort of person to do things that are unpleasant quickly, get them over with, before he has time to change his mind, so I hurried after him, cradling the Combe in one hand. Carrying a bottle of wine with you is always something you should remember when you are about to visit the king, even if it came from his cellar.

We reached one of the main hallways, and Galion stopped dead in his tracks, nearly causing me to drop the bottle. It took me a mere moment to realize what he was seeing that had so stunned him.

Finduilas.

She was walking toward the gates, looking very regal and elegant though she was still dressed in her traveling garments, simply cut with little embellishment. She did not need any. Her long golden hair streamed behind her as she moved gracefully away from us.

Galion watched until she was out of sight, and then spun accusingly toward me.

"Nobody has told me the Lady Galadriel is here!" he whispered, his voice and face filled with sudden panic. The Great Lady of the Golden Wood seemed to have that effect on people. "_Why_ is she here? Are those visitors from Rivendell not enough?"

Hmph. Certainly they were more than enough, but I knew that I owed Galion an explanation. I did not know if he would believe me, but I would tell him the truth.

"It is not Galadriel, though they are related. That is the Lady Finduilas, lately of Laketown. Oh, dear."

Oh, dear indeed. What _had_ she told Thranduil? What had she _done_ to Thranduil? Those Finwian ladies were notoriously…well….It is best to not think it when they are still within the vicinity.

"Finduilas?" Galion echoed, blinking in amazement, turning to look at where he had last seen her. "There is surely a lot to explain even when _I_ am done explaining my little story to the king…."

That had to be the understatement of the Age.

"Yours is only a small part of it," I agreed quietly, wondering where Thranduil was. "I just hope Thranduil is in a …good mood." This was doubtful. Meeting with Finduilas could have been quite…unpleasant, as it had been unexpected.

I moved past Galion to peer into the throne room, but it was occupied by Glorfindel and his retinue, including Eliant. I scowled at him, but did not enter the room. They were clearly waiting for the king. I ducked out of the doorway, not wishing to be detained by them…certainly not by Eliant, or there might be violence. Wine bottles from Combe were quite heavy and sturdy.

"I, uh, the garden perhaps?" I murmured to Galion, heading out of the palace and toward the private family garden, but only Firithiel was there, sleeping peacefully, lost in the dreams of our people, an open book across her stomach, shaded by the beech trees that circled where she lay. I certainly did not with to meet with her, and backed out of garden before I could disturb her slumber.

Once I was out of range of the queen's hearing, I sighed.

"This is odd. Perhaps Finduilas could not find him either….but where is he?" I spoke to Galion who followed after me, still looking slightly dazed. "Did he say anything to you about…oh, I don't know. Did Thranduil mention that he might be…detained elsewhere?"

He shook his head. He clearly did not know where the king had gone either….

Part the Second

Trying to make yourself useful while you are hiding from the law and waiting for news that could decide your future fate is not a wise plan. It is quite impossible to deny that _somebody_ is at home when a visitor happens to knock on the door just when the tea kettle is singing quite merrily.

It is even less of a good plan to open the door most cautiously then, scimitar in hand. At least not if a king is in front of the door in question. Valar!

For one long moment, we merely stared at each other in surprise, but annoyance had already replaced the expression of shock on Thranduil's face when I was still trying to figure out what had brought him here. "Open the door now, Alagaerion", he ordered, and his tone hardly invited disobedience.

I did as bidden, bowing my head a little. "My king." For reasons of self-preservation, it might have been the best thing to hit him over the head with the scimitar hilt now before leaving as stealthily as possible, but I had promised Mordil I would not run away again. True enough, that had been before I had known that the king himself would discover me here by chance, but still…

Thranduil was eying the scimitar with a frown, doubtlessly recognizing it for the orc weapon it was. "Who were you waiting for?" He indicated the bared blade. "Do I need to call the guards?"

Some of my tension subsided then, for if he had felt the need to 'call the guards' – provided that any were within hearing distance at all – he would not have been standing here, offering me a chance to explain what I was up to.

"No, my king." I handed him the scimitar hilt first. "I was waiting for Mordil."

Thranduil took the time to examine the weapon, weighing it in his hand and turning it this way and that before testing the balance. He was enough of a swordsman to recognize that he was not only holding an orc weapon, but an _exquisite_ orc weapon, and the furniture of his study had told me that, all prejudices and political misgivings aside, he had a certain penchant for fine orc-wrought things. He was impressed. "Waiting to do what?" he enquired, turning to look at me, as I had impolitely used the time to move the kettle from the fire and prepare the tea as planned. "You know the charges that were leveled against you and then you dare to stand here with a weapon, an orc weapon, and tell me you were waiting for the person you have been accused of plotting to murder. Do you not think this looks rather condemning?"

"It may look condemning if you believe that I am utterly stupid, my king," I replied with a slight smile. "Perhaps I am - but stupid enough to flee from a dungeon to the house of the very person I am accused of plotting to murder in order to carry out said murder? While preparing myself a nice cup of tea for after the dirty work? That would take either more foolishness or more ruthlessness than I believe to possess. But I am not the judge in this matter."

The king's lips quirked a bit; for all I knew, he was suppressing a smile. "I believe tea is in order then. You have something to tell me, I think."

That was quite an understatement. I moved to pour him a cup of tea, hoping that it was palatable already. "I did flee from your dungeon, if that is what you mean, and did damage a blanket in the process. The locks should be undamaged." I took a faint hint of pride in this, but Thranduil had probably not meant for me to explain about my lock-picking skills at length. "Other than that, there is, of course, the matter of the swords." It did not cost me much of an effort to look contrite. "I probably should not have used a sword in your woods without your knowledge and permission."

"No, you should not have." Firm as his words were, he did not sound like a stern judge speaking them, but rather like a benevolent father half-amused, half-annoyed by a silly child's antics. "Why did you have the swords?"

He had taken a seat in one of Tanglinna's old comfortable chairs by then, as if he felt very much at home here, and perhaps he did. At the same time, he managed to look quite regal, almost as if he were in his Hall, seated on his throne, but now that I was getting used to his admirable skill of looking like the king he was at will, I was not intimidated by it any more, even though I was not ready to answer his question.

I had told Mordil about Galion, but that was another matter entirely. "My king, if you had promised a friend to keep a secret, would you keep this promise? I suppose you would. So will I, unless you order me formally, as the king of these woods, to reveal what has been entrusted to me."

Thranduil said nothing for a while, but finally, he nodded. "You are very loyal to those you consider friends," he observed, his eyes never leaving my face. "You need not say then, but I already know. My son confessed his...part in this, so I know that you were teaching Galion to use the sword for the competition." He paused. "That is why you wanted Galion to come when you were arrested. We should have done that instead of..." Interrupting himself, he shook his head. "You must think ill of us for treating you so...shabbily...and unfairly." As if to sustain his calm after this astonishing admission, he took a sip of tea. "Tell me this. You spoke of the history that is between you and this Eliant. Do you think he had any hand in this? Nimdir and Laebrui are young and foolish, but I cannot believe they would..."

I was too amazed that Thranduil – the _king_, the ruler and judge of these woods – had actually almost apologized to me to think about what Laebrui and Nimdir were and were not capable of at length. "I do not know. I would not put it past Eliant to have encouraged Nimdir and Laebrui in what they did, but I have no reason other than our obvious lack of friendship to suspect him of having had a hand in this." With a shrug, I added: "All I know is that he enjoyed my predicament rather too much. He came to visit me, and I must confess that what he said hastened my decision to escape. I should not have distrusted your justice, but... I was a fool." A fool who had not been ready to believe that this was not Nargothrond indeed.

"What did he say to you?" Thranduil's voice was carefully neutral, but the displeasure he tried to mask was not directed at me.

"He made it quite clear to me that everyone believed in my guilt, including Tanglinna, who was said to have left Mirkwood for good, and that there was 'no good place' for me anywhere, that I was beyond help in any case." I hoped that I had not sounded too self-pitying; Thranduil did not deserve any complaint from my side, not after the generosity he had shown more than once. "While I realize now that he did not speak for everyone here, his words upset me then."

Slowly, the king took another sip of tea, his eyes seeming cold and detached while the fingers of his free hand caressed the scimitar that lay across his lap. "You do have a way of making interesting friends and enemies, Master Alagaith." This was all he would say in regard to Eliant for now; the change of subject was quite brusque, but not unwelcome: "And Galion? Does he stand a chance at all in this competition? Legolas was quite repentant, but the damage has been done."

His gaze had warmed while he had spoken, and the wry smile on his face when he finished spoke of much sympathy and worry. He did not want his butler to be humiliated and laughed at in this competition. And he was asking for _'Master Alagaith's'_ opinion.

I smiled. "If he finally stops persuading himself that he is but a poor, hapless butler, he will win it. He should not be your butler, but your third swordmaster; he has a natural gift for handling such a weapon." I was not making things up to reassure the king, but quite serious in my assessment of Galion's skills. There were some people who were born with gifts that their station in life caused to remain slumbering for a long time, but could be woken and honed when necessity demanded it. I knew my father had turned into a warrior after having spent his youth as a lowly kitchen helper; who said a butler would not make a fine swordmaster with a bit of help?

Thranduils eyes widened "He should win it, hm? Would you care to wager on that, Master Alagaith?" Lifting one brow, he eyed me speculatively, as if there was more to this question than I could fathom.

In any case, the idea of a wager with the king amused me. "Why not? But what would you have me do if I lose my wager? I am afraid I have little to offer... unless you would like to have that scimitar, of course."

He did look at the scimitar then, and I could see that I had not been mistaken when I had suspected that he liked it well enough to harbour a wish of adding it to his armoury; but he shook his head. "I have something else in mind actually...but we shall see how things play out. Never fear, I think either way we shall both enjoy this whether Galion proves you right or not. You clearly have more...talents that I am not yet aware of, Master Alagaith."

Finishing his tea, he set the cup aside and reluctantly returned the scimitar to me. "I would be careful about who sees you with this. Now...I believe I must return to the palace and deal with those Rivendell elves again. Thank you for your hospitiality."

At any other time, the knowledge that the high and mighty wood-elf king so obviously shared a shady orc-merchant's and a Noldorin thief's taste in weapons would have made me laugh, but not now; I was feeling too warm and happy, too grateful to laugh. I bowed deeply instead. "Thank you."

I meant it, and not only because he had not ordered me back into the dungeons until the matter was officially settled.

Thranduil merely nodded and moved out of the door into the gathering night, suppressing a sigh, as if he would have preferred to stay for another cup of tea instead of entertaining Glorfindel and his entourage, not a king's sigh, but that of a friend.


	11. Chapter 11

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Chapter 11 – To Live By The Sword

**Part the First**

The sword fighting contest held ever spring was much anticipated by all, contestants and observers alike. After our relative inactivity in the winter, this was a time for laughing, eating and for some brave few or boastful host, to show that they were the best swordsman in Thranduil's woodland realm. This competition had started when this wood had still been known as Greenwood and Oropher was our king. Though Thranduil always watched with great interest, enjoying the spectacle as much as the rest of us Oropher had, on occasion, participated in the contest, always laughing good naturedly when one of his warriors bested him.

Though the competition was for the sword, there were also exhibitions with the long knives, short swords, straight swords that the Secondborn seemed to favor, daggers both curved and leaf-shaped. Vardamar and Thinruth gave an exhibition as well, each bearing two blades making their dance a whirl of silver clashes almost too fast for the eye to follow, though Thinruth's decidedly bright clothing made it easier to follow his movement than his companion's drabber garb. Compared to Thinruth, everyone else was dressed in drab garments; Gurshak would have approved of his clothing. There was much food, drink, laughter, calling of encouragement to the competitors, much jesting, and cheering.

Many deported themselves well though most awaited Galion's appearance. Rumor of him being in the competition had spurred interest, and though some wondered if he would bake his delicious cakes as he always had, most wondered at his name in the list of participants, knowing him to be more at home in pantry and kitchen than in the field of combat. When at last the true competition had begun and Galion did so very well, people began to talk.

I smiled at their conjectures and speculations about who had trained him, but did not enlighten them; that was not my secret to tell.

Galion faced Tavor in one fight, rather ironic all things considered. I could see that Tavor's concentration was not all that it should be – a guilty conscience will do that to one at the most awkward moments. But when Galion trounced him soundly despite the encouragement and somewhat questionable advice offered by Legolas and Brethil, often contradictory things at the same moment, Tavor smiled ruefully and congratulated the butler-turned- swordsman sincerely and retired from the field to be teased by Legolas and comforted by Brethil.

At the end of it all, and wagers were flying as fast and freely as arrows, Galion faced Ringelen, an elf that had come with Oropher to Greenwood. He was a taciturn old warrior who often won these competitions in the past, but had 'retired' to 'let some of the young ones find their share of glory'. But when he had heard that Galion had entered, he decided to join in on the fun. Perhaps he had always know that Galion had this hidden talent, but when he stepped into the ring, facing the butler, I could see by the look on Ringelen's face that he would give all he had to the fight and expected the same of Galion.

Linlote was certain, no doubt, that his student would best our best, and he was right. Oddly, and amusingly enough, Galion seemed surprised when at last he had Ringelen at his mercy. Ringelen looked equally amazed, and then he laughed clapping Galion on the back.

"Well done, Master Butler," he said, "but I hope you still had the time to bake your cakes."

Great cheers broke out and I smiled at Linlote, cheering loudly – for them both. It was not only Galion's victory, but his as well. Linlote looked very pleased with his student, and nodded his approval.

Galion's face was dazed when the cheers erupted and he blinked a bit, then smiled in triumph, raising his sword and standing in what he undoubtedly thought was a heroic pose, and I saw his eyes go to his teacher, a look on his face that looked almost as if he wondered if he were doing this part of it right. How did the champion stand at the end of a long, hard won fight?

Thranduil rose from his carved chair at the far side of the ring in the grove, taking Firithiel's hand in his. They were both dressed in pale green robes, embroidered with white and silver with flowers twining on their brows. They moved gracefully toward Galion, followed closely by young Maikahil who carried a wreath of laurel leaves in his hands, leaves that had been woven with bright spring flowers.

An expectant hush fell over the assembly as the royal couple came to stand before their butler, and Thranduil took the wreath in his hands.

"Galion, you are declared the victor of this contest, and deservedly so." He placed the leaves and flowers on the man's head, and Galion, who was already flushed with triumph and joy, blushed an even deeper shade as he lifted his head, his fingers touching the wreath as he murmured his thanks. He looked as if he thought he were dreaming, but then he gazed warily into the crowd as if fearing that those he had fairly trounced might be angry for his usurpation. He need not have worried on that account; we all were proud of him and shared his joy. He smiled tremulously once more, his gaze going to Legolas, Tavor, and Brethil, and a most uncharacteristic smirk lit his face.

I gazed over at the young elves, seeing Legolas' look of surprise, but then he smiled tipping his head to Galion while Brethil beamed at him and waved happily. Tavor did not look quite as pleased as his friends, but then managed a somewhat rueful grin of acknowledgement. Undoubtedly he was already plotting how to best the butler next year.

Thranduil spared his youngest son a quick glance and cocked one brow, but turned back to the day's champion, saying, "Many here are probably marveling that your skills with the sword, which have been hidden behind goblet and bowl for long years, are so excellent. One has suggested that you become our third swordmaster, but I was hoping that you would remain our butler for you are exceptional and our larders would suffer without you."

Galion was not the only one that gasped in shock at this offer. "I…." He looked almost too stunned for words. Indeed, he was having a most unusual day. "Thank you, my king, this is too kind, but I would prefer to remain your butler indeed," he finally managed, looking relieved that he had not been ordered to change jobs. He _is_ an exceptional butler.

"Good," Thranduil agreed with a grin. "I would not like to have to find another." No, he would not. I chuckled slightly at this thought. Thranduil and Galion had a long, comfortable relationship, and Galion knew just how things should be, whether it was in regard to the wine being served, or when to serve it or how much or the matter of the shape of the butter pats used at fancy dinner parties, or exactly how much of what herbs to use in Thranduil's tea in the mornings, dependent upon his mood.

Thranduil grasped Galion's forearm, showing that he considered the butler his brother warrior indeed, and smiled once more. What he said next was unexpected.

"Now, Galion, you must tell us who it was that prepared you in such a brilliant manner. I know well that it was not one of our own swordmasters."

Galion glanced anxiously to Alagaith, who was dressed in his comfortable old clothing, looking more like the Noldorin thief I had caught than anything. I saw the quick look of unease on his face.

"Master Alagaith helped me," Galion answered gazing once more at Thranduil, who was smiling gently. Firithiel on the other hand looked most displeased though the smile on her face did not alter. "He was a very good teacher indeed." I think Galion spoke this more to her than to her husband who had asked the question.

"So it would appear," Thranduil nodded. If he was aware of his wife's hostility, he did not let it deter him. I am surprised icicles were not growing from his hand where it had moved to rest beneath her arm. "I suppose some of the moves I saw you use against our 'best' were Noldorin in origin. They looked vaguely familiar. Master Alagaith, please come here." He turned the full force of his gaze on Linlote, who hurried forward, looking slightly worried as he bowed to them, trying his best to avoid Firithiel's cold gaze.

Thranduil turned to look at his wife, and then back at Alagaith, a small smile on his lips. What he thought of this, only he knew.

"It would seem that perhaps we are in need of a third swordmaster," he began without preface, "someone who perhaps can teach us something new…or old as the case may be."

I knew what he meant, and several of the older warriors nodded. Those 'Noldorin moves' had been witnessed by us last during the battle of Dagorlad.

"I know that things have not gone well for you since you came here, and _unfairly_ so." His eyes slid to where Nimdir and Laebrui stood. They flushed uncomfortably, shifting their feet and looking at anything or anyone but the king and Linlote. Then Thranduil gazed at Eliant who stood with Glorfindel and the others from Rivendell, letting that snake know that he was well aware of his part in all that had transpired. "It will not be said that we in Mirkwood do not welcome strangers openly and freely, asking forgiveness when merited as it is in this case, and inviting those we _choose_ to stay as they will. What we do ask of them is that they offer their talents freely for the benefit of all, and so it is with this in mind that I ask you to take the position of Third Swordmaster of Mirkwood before all this company here assembled."

Thranduil's clear voice carried throughout the grove, including everyone in his mild admonition that Alagaith was one of us now, if he so chose. I gazed at my king and felt a swell of love and respect flood through me. Truly in moments like this he proved what a magnificent king he was.

I turned to look at Eliant then, wondering what he would say to this, what dire things would he say against Linlote now, but oddly he was smiling placidly as if this was exactly what he had wished would happen. I frowned, for unless he could change his feelings toward Alagaith that quickly, like a snake shedding its old skin, which was doubtful, then what mischief was he planning behind those calm eyes?

Linlote had grown very pale, and for one moment I feared he would refuse, would still leave. No one would blame him. My heart lurched at this thought, but I said nothing, hardly dared to breathe. It was his choice after all, not mine.

He dropped gracefully to one knee, and in that moment I saw him for who he truly was, who he had been before all the old bad business in Nargothrond: a warrior, proud and noble, not the skulking cutpurse I had named him on that cold day in winter when we first met. And at that moment I knew he would stay, and a single tear of joy trickled over my cheek.

"I thank you for your most gracious offer, my king, and I happily accept it. I shall serve you and Mirkwood well; this I swear." More eloquent words could not have been spoken nor more appropriate. I could see that Thranduil approved of this, for Linlote was not baiting him, twisting what had been said to defend himself as he had in the past. I could tell by the glow on Linlote's face as he looked slowly up at the king, that he was very, very happy.

And so was I.

**Part the Second**

"Arise, Third Swordmaster of Mirkwood, and welcome."

The words were still unfamiliar, but they felt right, very much like putting on a garment made especially for you for the first time instead of a random tunic pilfered from a dead orc.

I rose to my feet as bidden, hiding the fact that I was giddy with joy and very ready to dance around and hug everyone, including the king, behind a mask of newfound dignity. I did allow myself to give Mordil a quick smile, but held myself back from following his eyes to where Eliant was standing. The glance of fell triumph Mordil sent him had to be enough.

Thranduil offered his arm to me in a warrior clasp of hands on forearms, ready to demonstrate that it did not matter anymore that the hand touching him bore a brand, and meaning it. There was an amused glint to his eyes, and I knew he remembered the wager he had offered as well as I did, and that his decision had been made back then, after our conversation, not on the whim of a moment upon seeing Galion win this contest.

When he moved away, Firithiel offered her welcome that was none, her smile never reaching her eyes. "You are a man of many talents, Master Alagaith", she stated, making it more of a subtle insult than a compliment, and she would not even have stooped to touch me if forced at sword point. A week ago, I would have felt hurt and humiliated, taking this as one more proof that things could never be right again, but the Third Swordmaster of Mirkwood could smile coolly and politely and thank his queen without feeling overly troubled. Life was good.

Few seemed to share Firithiel's resentment. Galion was there as soon as the royal couple had withdrawn, thanking me to the point of making me feel embarrassed, and for some moments, we could bask in the glory of our joint victory and the stream of compliments and congratulations before Ecthelhador decided to lead his friend away for a glass of wine and more praise and admiration.

The king's sons had arrived to congratulate me by then, Celebross smiling genuinely, if looking a bit bemused, while Aralith seemed largely uncertain what to think of these developments. Perhaps he simply needed some time to come to terms with the fact that he had been soundly beaten by his father's butler.

Legolas, accompanied by his two friends, was the last of the three to clasp my arm with an honest smile. "I do hope you will forgive us for...all that we did to poor Galion...and..." – here, he flushed a bit – "and what our foolishness did to you. We are sorry."

I could have reminded him that I would never have been able to show proficiency as a swordfighting teacher without their foolish little prank.

Tavor did not seem to be aware of this; he nodded at his friend's words, looking nicely embarrassed. It was probably as much of an apology as could be expected of him.

Brethil nodded as well, not looking quite as uncomfortable as his companion. "Perhaps you could help Tavor prepare for next year," he blithely said. "He did not listen to us, but I suppose that was obvious."

Tavor glowered at him a bit, but chose to forgo telling Brethil to shut up; he addressed me instead: "I would appreciate any help you could give me. My daernaneth also wants to invite you do dinner." He grimaced a bit, and I surmised that Lady Laureahiril had made her displeasure at his being beaten by a mere butler known in no uncertain terms. "Perhaps you can convince her that I am not as hopeless as I appear."

For warriors who had already seen one great battle, and in spite of all their tricks and pranks, all three of them could still be surprisingly innocent and guileless at times, the slightest bit ridiculous, perhaps, but oddly endearing at the same time.

I smiled at Tavor. "You are not hopeless." I meant it, and not only because I was feeling kind and mellow and happier than I had been in a long time. "At least, not as a swordsman. Tell your daernaneth that I am honoured and gladly accept the invitation."

If I had hoped to be able to catch my breath and relax for a moment after they had ambled off, I had been mistaken, for my fellow swordmasters were there then, still looking mildly perplexed by what had happened, but Vardamar did not hesitate to grasp my arm in that ritual grip that would probably be repeated often enough to make my swordhand go numb today. From him, it meant more than from some of the others; I would not have expected the glaring old Sinda to accept me so readily, but now, he was even grinning.

"That move he did, Galion, near the end, you must tell me about it over a glass of wine tonight at the feast. Tomorrow you must show me."

Then, Thinruth was upon me, welcoming me quite readily, but eying my clothing with a mixture of pity and disdain. "You will do nicely," he said, his slim fingers playing with the elaborate tassel that adorned a hat that wanted to be stylishly Noldorin, " but we must work on your wardrobe."

"We must indeed. I hope I can find a tailor who is able to make orcish warrior cloaks. The kind with bone ornaments at the hem, you know?" I put an arm around Alagant who had arrived by then, looking very proud of his ada indeed, and smiled; I had a reputation of utter outrageousness to keep up, after all!

Thinruth did recoil a bit, spluttering and apparently unsure if I was joking, but finally settling for shaking his head. "Truly you have a lot to learn, Master Alagaith."

Vardamar clapped him on the shoulder with a grin directed at me, a strangely appreciative grin, at that. I did not know if he really approved of what I had said, or merely of the provocation. "Make certain you join us for that wine tonight, Master Alagaith," he reminded me before they moved away to make way for Glorfindel and his entourage.

The Rivendell ambassador was polite, if reserved, and the fact that he glanced askance at Eliant, who was hovering in the background, told me that my good old friend from Nargothrond had probably talked about me rather too much.

Finally, when the stream of congratulators was thankfully ebbing off, Mordil arrived, grinning quite a bit, but grasping my forearm like all the other Mirkwood warriors had done, only to squeeze it comfortably. "Welcome, Third Swordmaster Alagaith."

"Thank you, Master Archer of Mirkwood." But this was not quite enough, and not caring if anybody was watching, I hugged him fiercely, grateful for everything that had happened between that day on the slopes of the Lonely Mountain and today. "Thank you! For everything."

Mordil returned the embrace for a long moment. "Thank _you_," he murmured quietly before he let go of me and moved away graciously to make room for yet more well-wishers and the merely curious.

One who was still there was neither. Elegant as ever in star-strewn blue, but as cold as a night that comes with so clear a sky in winter, Eliant was waiting for the wood elves to clear out of his way.

It cost me an effort not to smirk at him; this meeting was quite different from our last conversation down in the dungeons. "Eliant." It had been a long time since we had been on roughly equal footing, but a swordmaster of Mirkwood did not have to look up to a Rivendell captain.

"Alagaith...or should I say Master Alagaith." He sounded almost nonchalant, but I could tell that he was not pleased. "I see you have what you wanted, hm? Congratulations." Of course, he managed a perfect smile, but it did not warm his carefully emotionless eyes.

"Thank you." I smiled back ever so kindly, if not without irony. "I do not know if I would ever have succeeded without your most helpful, concerned words down in the dungeons."

It was then, at the most convenient time, that Laebrui and Nimdir arrived, probably prodded either by Thranduil or by Mordil, who was not far, either.

Nimdir cleared his throat with a hasty glance at Eliant that did not escape me. "M-master Alagaith? I, that is _we_, Laebrui and I...we are very sorry for our part in this...and for what...what we did earlier." Had they finally understood or been made understand that taking away my eyepatch had been something worse than an annoying joke? "Truly, we fear that ... that you meant Master Tanglinna harm else we would not have done this. But this Rivendell fellow here-"

Pointing at Eliant, he hesitated, but Laebrui finished the sentence for him. "He told us that you had something to do with it."

I could not say that I was surprised, but neither was Eliant; he had probably known all along what his young allies – or should I say tools? – were worth and had taken care not to let them know too much. He merely lifted one brow now. "That is true," he calmly admitted, his voice filled with quite convincing sorrow. Perhaps he was sad indeed – sad that his grand plan had come to nothing. "I admit that I feared you had turned against your friend," he nodded to Mordil, who had moved closer to us, bristling with anger and obviously quite ready to jump on Eliant and throttle him, if the necessity arose. "But I admit I was wrong."

I forced a polite smile; running a guest from Rivendell through with the nearest blade would not have been a very commendable action for a new swordmaster. "It honours you that you were all so concerned for Master Tanglinna's life, and the two of you" – I addressed Laebrui and Nimdir specifically now, leaving out Eliant for good measure – "had every reason to distrust me. We should forget this misunderstanding."

I was ready enough to give the two young fools something of a second chance indeed, but the part of this that had not been a misunderstanding would not be forgiven and forgotten that easily.

Eliant was well aware of the subtleties of what had been said. "I trust you shall forgive me also," he said, opening his arms to offer a hug of reconciliation. "You are so very noble, Master Alagaith."

Before I could come up with a way of withdrawing gracefully, he had already embraced me, holding me close and murmuring in my ear so that only I would hear: "This is far from over, _Master_ Alagaith."

The placid smile that was on his face when he moved away made me shudder.

My memories of how the evening ended are less clear. I _think_ it was Vardamar who half-led, half-dragged me home after having made sure that I consumed considerable amounts of the wine he had saved for rare and special occasions, a wicked beverage that tasted suspiciously like Combe spiced with Orcish brandy. I also believe it did not bother him overly much that it was Seven who opened the door, but the faint memory I have of the two of them sharing my last secret, well-hidden brandy bottle while I was already too tired to object certainly belongs to one of the vivid dreams I had that night.

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

On Rare Occasions by DragonoftheNorth and TreeHugger

Epilogue

Alagaith was humming some odd tune that I judged to be Nargothrondian in origin with the harmony intoned quietly at certain melody breaks. I knew he was happy, happier than perhaps he could have imagined he would be here, and that pleased me. Watching him measure out the area that would one day comprise his front porch, facing west of course, I could see how contented he had grown, how much this meant to him – to have his own house, to be accepted.

They had chosen a cozy spot, not far from my tree house; a hilly place with a cave they told me one day would comprise the back of their home. You could hear the gentle rush of the river here, not far from some very good fishing places. It was a nice spot.

"Are you so very certain, Linlote," I began shaking my head in bemusement, "that you want to live on the ground and _in_ the ground like some dwarf? The trees are much better."

I had been surprised, but only briefly, when Alagaith had told me where they had chosen to put their house. They were Noldor after all, and they were allowed some strangeness in their choice of dwelling places. Our own good king lived in a cave, but then he was Sindarin, and they could be odd as well.

Linlote looked up at me, pausing in his measuring.

"Really, Mordil," he sighed. "You wood-elves are so very…impractical." He shook his head and grinned. "Always thinking of the wild wargs that could come and eat you, but never of sprained ankles. I have sprained my ankles more often than I have had to face a hungry warg." He winked jauntily, and I almost regretted my giving in and telling him the tale of Galion the Gallant rescuing _me_ from the hungry warg.

"Yes," I conceded with a grin of my own, "but a sprained ankle heals, being eaten by a hungry warg does not." I chuckled a bit. "If it makes you happy to burrow into the ground, then I will let you."

Alagaer, who had been looking at the various herbs that grew nearby, no doubt going over their culinary usefulness in his head, returned and put a warm hand on my shoulder.

"He is better at talking wargs out of eating him than at keeping his ankles from getting sprained," he said, gazing affectionately at his son. "Have we never told you about the one little warg in the Misty Mountains that-"

Alagant hurried to his father's defense with a "No, daerada. You said not to tell Master Tanglinna. Don't you remember? You told me not to tell the warg story, or that of the Yule cake."

Seven, who was leaning against a tree, chuckled at this innocent assertion.

I lifted one brow, gazing back at Alagaith.

"Keeping secrets are we, Linlote?" I would have to work those tales out of them, they had, after all, heard some of mine. "That is not very nice of you," I continued. "I-" My words died in my throat and I bowed hastily as Thranduil joined us, tipping his head, which was bare of any ornamentation for once.

The king looked about, not that there was much to see yet. I swallowed uncomfortably, glancing from him to Seven, who had straightened, looking instantly wary. This was not good. One did not simply bring an orc into our wood, even if it was a friendly one…not that anyone had heard of friendly orcs before Seven's arrival in our lives. It was almost too preposterous. Elves and orcs…opposites in every way…or were we?

Thranduil was looking steadfastly at Seven, his eyes narrowed in a contemplative manner, and then he turned to Linlote.

"Good day, Master Alagaith," he greeted, picking him as the most likely culprit for bringing an orc here in the open.

Linlote bowed, and though he kept his face composed, I could see the slight flash of uncertainty in his eye. "My king…. I believe you have not met my good friend Seven yet?"

Of course, he had not. An orc! An orc in Mirkwood, standing before the king as bold as you please! Ai! This was bad!

Seven bowed, very elegantly I must say, and I admit he did not look _very_ Orcish in his beautifully embroidered clothing. Most of the orcs or goblins dressed in rather simple garments, not overly embellished with lovely threads depicting leaves or birds. I saw a look of concern cross Linlote's face as Thranduil continued to study Seven.

Thranduil suddenly nodded, his face hiding what he thought. He is very good at that, and it is rather disconcerting.

"Welcome to our wood, Master Seven," he said at last, and I could hear the slight tone of surprise in his voice. Surprise at speaking with an orc? Speaking _civilly_ with an orc? Speaking with one at all? His eyes narrowed as he regarded the unfortunate friend of Alagaith once more. "I suppose we shall be seeing you here quite often." It was not framed as a question, but I knew that Thranduil must be wondering how to handle yet another unexpected situation, this one in regard to an orc of all things!

Elves kill orcs or get killed by orcs. It was that simple…or it used to be. One never had to think on it before.

"With your permission," Seven answered him, "I will gladly visit from time to time."

I could see by the tension in his shoulders that Seven did not know what to make of this any more than I did. I did not think he had much chance to converse with elves outside of his own small acquaintance with Alagaith and his family, Fin and Gwin included, and certainly not with an elf like Thranduil.

Alagaer suddenly stepped forward, his hand tightening on my shoulder for just an instant.

"He will certainly be here very often," he declared, almost as if he was _daring_ Thranduil to gainsay him! "He is a good friend of ours, and has been for a long time." There was the slightest pause and then, "I met him in the mines. He was lucky enough to escape at some point. Few of the other Avari who were there died. They were not as much a people of miners as we Noldor are."

I gaped at him in amazement. What was he saying? Did he truly want to pass Seven off as an Avari? As an elf?? That was preposterous!

Thranduil's brow rose, and I thought that for a mere second one side of his mouth quirked in an amused smile, but that couldn't have been.

"An Avari, is he?" he said, addressing Alagaer, but then turned to survey the highly uncomfortable orc. "So…that is what they look like," he added, his gaze shooting to me.

I felt rather like a startled deer caught in the hunter's sight, but then I managed to nod. Of course, that is what the Avari looked like. There was some tale, wasn't there, about the wild Avari….

"Of course he is an Avari," I answered, trying to look as nonchalant about this as I could. If Alagaer managed it perfectly, then so could I. "It seems perfectly…obvious to me," I finished, feeling slightly ill. Everything could fall apart over this; one did not invite orcs into our wood!

Oddly enough I felt a pang of fear stab through me, exactly like I felt when Thranduil and I had been younger and he had thought of some wonderful scheme that would undoubtedly get us into trouble of some sort – rather like his youngest son did now. Thranduil's blue eyes gleamed as he turned once more to Seven.

"Well, we shall have to give a feast in honor of our visiting Avari, hm?" he said, smiling a bit too much. What was he thinking! I could almost _hear_ what he was thinking! What was he saying! And he dared to laugh! What was he planning? "Yes, indeed," he said, looking too pleased with himself for comfort, "a feast is called for." The grin that spread across his features was most wicked and I felt my heart sink. "I shall speak to my wife-" Ai Valar! "about arranging it. If that would please you?"

I stared open mouthed at him, scarcely daring to believe what I was hearing!

Seven looked even more unsure than he had before, and I was certain – absolutely certain! - that he must think us all mad, we Mirkwood elves.

"This would be a great honour," he began, "but I do not know…."

If there is one thing worse than one elf bent upon mischief, it is two. Curse the Sindar and the Noldor! Alagaer joined the game, smiling every bit as wickedly as Thranduil was!

"This is too kind of you, my king," he said, his eyes sparkling. "Speaking of feasts….Would you care for some…Avari music in the future? Master Seven is an accomplished singer, and your minstrels would certainly be delighted if he were to join them from time to time."

Alagaith looked scandalized, shooting his father a warning look that was blatantly ignored.

Now that Thranduil had someone to match wits with, there would be no stopping them! This was bad!

"That would be…delightful, Master Alagaer" he rejoined, his eyes snapping with enjoyment. "I am certain my…minstrels-" I had the feeling his minstrels were far from his mind at that moment – "would enjoy learning some…Avari tunes." Thranduil's smile widened, and I glared at him, and was blatantly ignored. "Lady Laureahiril is quite an accomplished musician," he added. "Perhaps you should go speak with her about accompanying Master Seven."

Laureahiril, the great matriarch of Tavor's rather large Noldorin family, had often crossed words with Oropher and it had passed to his son to deal with her rather opinionated ways. I could almost hear him calling her the 'old spider' in his mind.

I threw an apologetic look at Linlote, feeling quite helpless to prevent…what I did not know. Amazingly, Alagaer looked quite pleased with the suggestion.

"I will promptly inform her, my king." He bowed, his eyes still brilliantly filled with fun…and something else. The thought of visiting with the formidable Spider Queen, as Oropher had often called Laureahiril, had never left me feeling anything but unhappy and wishing the experience over as quickly as possible. So why did Alagaer leave so hastily and so happily?

Suddenly Alagaith grinned, and said rather enigmatically, "She will doubtlessly be delighted."

Seven, on the other hand, looked most displeased and unhappy, but then no one had really asked his opinion. Almost as if hearing what I was thinking, and doubtlessly what poor Seven was thinking, Thranduil rounded on the orc once more.

"Does this suit you, Master Seven?" There was compassion in his eyes, but I knew that things had been decided by two much more…forceful personalities than Seven. There would be a feast whether the guest of honour wished it or not.

"I am honoured, my king," he murmured graciously, but the look he shot at Alagaith spoke of the revenge on both Linlote and his wayward father.

"So Uncle Seven is _staying?_"

This was asked by Alagant who had been so quiet during this strange exchange. I turned to see him, beaming, his eyes sparkling with contained joy, his small body vibrating with happiness, and I could not suppress a smile from touching my lips.

"Very good," Thranduil said, looking quite satisfied with the way things had turned out thus far. "I shall go now and speak to my lady-wife. Pray continue. Your house promises to be rather intriguing."

_Not just their house_, I thought wryly as Thranduil took his leave of us to seek out Firithiel. I did not envy him _that_ conversation! I had the strange feeling that he would relish it.

"I am sorry about that," I said, the frown returning as I looked at Seven, who sat down on a nearby stone.

"Oh, this is not your fault," he said, glowering at Alagaith, whose fault he obviously thought this was, or some small measure of it. "I should have followed your father's wise suggestion to tie you to a tree when you were talking about going to Mirkwood…." He muttered.

Uh, oh. Very unhappy orc. This was…bad. I felt a grin tugging on my lips, and a laugh bubbled within my chest.

"Perhaps you should have," I agreed amiably, "but then you would miss all this…Mirkwood fun…and the feast given in your honour, Master Avari."

Really it was too ridiculous.

Alagaith was chuckling, not looking very guilty at all.

"Ah, Sharhur, dear friend…." He said with a smile. "You will like it here." Suddenly he gazed at me. " Mordil? What would be a good name for an Avari? I mean…Do you know any Avari names?"

In truth I did not, and Seven muttered, "Mad elves." I could see a slight hint of a grin beneath his impressive Orcish scowl, and I smiled.

"No, I fear I do not know any Avari names," I admitted. "I have never met an Avari…before now that is," I added with a grin. "But perhaps something like …Avarfaug."

Seven slowly shook his head.

"_Avarfaug_?" he repeated disbelievingly. "You do want trouble, don't you?"

Alagaith laughed at the suggestion. "Avarfaug?"

Alagant, who was being more practical than the rest of us chimed in "At least it rhymes with Smaug."

I chuckled at this. "Yes, it is all that dragon's fault." I suppose that was nearly true. If not for Smaug, none of us would have met.

Suddenly Seven sighed, looking mildly exasperated.

"Your knowledge of Avari names is less than perfect, isn't it, my dear elves?" he asked, speaking slowly as if we were rather ignorant children. "I think I will go with…Eglahil."

Alagaith blinked. "That is a real name, isn't it?"

A real name? Seven knew Avari names? I stared at him thinking there was more to this orc than met the eye, but I already knew that.

What a silly conversation! Three elves trying to find an Avari name for an orc! It was a good thing no one could hear us.

"It sounds convincing enough," a new voice behind me added, and I froze.

We had been caught!

**Part the Last**

This quiet corner of the woods seemed to attract unexpected visitors today.

I had not heard the First Swordmaster approach, and neither had the others, if their bemused looks were anything to judge by, but the First Swordmaster sounded oddly pleased with Seven's strange idea. Perhaps my brandy dream had not been that much of a dream, after all?

This odd glance of unexpected complicity was not the only remarkable thing about Vardamar today. Not only was he dressed impeccably in courtly robes, as was hardly his custom; there was also a mischievous glint to his eyes that I had never seen before. In fact, he looked like an elfling who has successfully hidden several large and hairy spiders in a squeamish aunt's bed.

Mordil noticed none of this. He only believed that it had to mean trouble if his dour and brave old friend and an orc were in the same place.

"Vardamar," he began, not sounding like his poised masterarcherly self at all, but rather as if he expected to find himself under the charge of befriending orcs that had been leveled at me so short a time ago. "He...that is..."

Puzzled, he fell silent; he had probably realized that Vardamar had not made any move to chop Seven into pieces, but had given him a nod instead. _What is this, Linlote?_ his eyes seemed to ask as he gazed at me.

Before I could try to explain even half of it, Vardamar nodded pleasantly. "An orc turned Avari, I know, I know." He paused, studying our meagre house building preparations. "But this is not why I am here." Neither had he come to comment on our choice of building place: "I just thought you might all be interested in learning that the Rivendell folks have left."

This was unexpected. While I had known that the Rivendell elves were going to leave some time in the near future, I had forgotten the exact date, if it had ever been mentioned. In any case, it was a pleasant thought that I would not have to avoid the Hall any longer in order not to run into Eliant, pleasant, but strange and somewhat disconcerting at the same time. Here, I could avoid him and still watch his moves from afar; as soon as he was back in Rivendell, there was no way to know what he was plotting, planning and setting into motion… But for now, he seemed to be gone… Gone, just like that.

Mordil could hardly believe the welcome news, either. "All of them?" he enquired without speaking Eliant's name.

Vardamar smiled, but it was a smile to chill even the bravest to the quick. "Yes. There have been reports of some unforeseen orc activity lately, you know." It was the first time I heard any of this, and I could not help doubting the veracity of this information a little; never trust a swordmaster who smiles like a warg! "Traveling swiftly is quite the only option they have. Ah, and they had to send their best scout ahead." I had never believed I would live to see the day on which cool, dignified Vardamar would rub his hands in glee, but he did now. "I recommended a path, you know."

Mordil frowned. "And who is their 'best scout'? Surely you don't mean..." And then, he understood; his eyes shone, and the swordmaster's wargish smile was mirrored on his face. "Just what path did you suggest, Master Vardamar?"

Vardamar could look very innocent if he so chose. "Ah, you know... There is one quiet, little path down by the small lake southwest of here." There was such a path indeed, and the lake in question was almost as beautiful as the pools of Ivrin had been long ago… Only that there had been fewer spiders' nests around Eithel Ivrin. One of the first things Mordil had told me after I had moved to Mirkwood was that I should never, ever go fishing there, and that allowing Alagant to go even near that place would be even more careless than leaving him in the care of an orc.

Vardamar was still smiling innocently. "Very pleasant, especially at this time of the year", he continued. "Only a bit spider-infested, but that should not stop a great warrior of Rivendell, should it?"

Any good and compassionate elf would have been shocked by this blatant admission of something ever so close to kinslaying… Any elf, excluding those who were present. I could not pity Eliant, not even if I imagined him surrounded by a multitude spiders or dangling from a tree before being turned into lunch. Perhaps I would feel slightly sorry weeks from now, if a foppish cap, a sword or a few bones were found near that path, but not now… No, certainly not now.

Mordil smiled. "You were quite right to send their best scout ahead of them. He is undoubtedly a great warrior indeed and should be able to handle anything he encounters there. You were very wise, Master Vardamar." Wise and utterly wicked! But also utterly right.

He bowed to Vardamar, his eyes shining with mirth, and after a moment, I imitated him, a nigh Feanorian smile on my lips. "Very wise indeed, my fellow swordmaster. Pray tell, was he wearing that lovely cloak of his, with the little bells?"

THE END

Thank you thank you to our readers and reviewers! It is over finally…for now. Eliant vs. a spider… Who might win: ))


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